


Albus Potter and the Dark World

by alongwaydowntherabbithole



Series: Albus Severus Potter [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Al doesn't get on with his family, Albus Severus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy bromance, Gen, Slytherin Albus Severus Potter, Slytherin Scorpius Malfoy, Somewhat OOC Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-14 15:46:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7178279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alongwaydowntherabbithole/pseuds/alongwaydowntherabbithole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scion of the famous Potter family, Al’s first year at Hogwarts was never going to be simple. Instead of the year of magic, homework, pranks and Quidditch that he was expecting, Al befriends the one person he should hate, Scorpius Malfoy and begins a whole new adventure. Separated for the first time from his family and his old friends, Al and Scorpius set out to enjoy their time at Hogwarts, but a wrong turn takes them into a whole other world where everything is foreign and a darker threat is looming. Convinced that one of their teachers is to blame for the increasing danger, Al and Scorpius, alongside some new friends, set out to stop him, but the truth is far more dangerous than even they have realised. And all the while, there are two figures, shrouded in mist, watching them from the shadows…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Man in the Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any elements that you recognise from the Harry Potter series; if I did, I would have a nicer house.

To those in the know, London is a phantasmagoria of mystery and magic. Its streets exist in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Victorian cobbles worn down by golems, mystics, magicians. Even the regular rumble of car engines cannot detract from the scent of raw magic that pervades the air. Tall houses, the brickwork caked in years of soot, appear, silhouetted against the almost perpetually grey sky; their uniform roofs occasionally interrupted by sharp, gothic steeples, ready to impale fallen angels. The wind that whistles through the narrow, winding lanes carries the memory of magic and revolution, and even on the rowdiest of nights, the eerie whisper of music, echoing throughout the city, can be heard even by those who do not believe in the message that it brings.

Amidst the complicated crisscross of old Victorian buildings and brand new constructs that jutted high into the sky like concrete giants was a small, rundown church. In its heyday it had stood proudly, the only building in a quarter mile radius, and dozens of people had gathered there each and every day to worship a being far greater than the more popular God. But years of war and a loss of faith had left the building abandoned by its custodians, the secret that it held long forgotten by all of those left alive. Now, after decades of neglect, the building was derelict, but magic is stronger than stone, and the two prisoners that had been sentenced to a lifetime of captivity had remained in the cell far below the surface, and it is there, in the bowels of the old church, with two lonely figures staring at the walls of their living tomb, that our story begins.

What had originally been a bare cell had been transformed over the years, with books and more furniture having been added as the guards grew older and more sympathetic to their eternal plight. A fire crackled in the grate, and stacks of books, old, worn and leather-bound filled the room. Two simple, single beds were pushed to the corners of the room, and there was a single desk between them which was covered in sheaves of paper, with hand drawn maps inked on some, and indecipherable writing covering others. Plans of the globe, the stars and other strange images were mapped out on other, ancient pieces of parchment and were pinned up above the desk.

The walls themselves were yellowed with age, but very little of the original wallpaper could be seen, as the prisoners had papered them over, their ravings and ramblings written down for anyone to see, if only anyone came to visit.

Virtually the only section of the walls not covered was the large, ornate mirror that rested against the longest wall. The intricate flowers of the burnished metal frame looked deadly sharp and seemed to glitter threateningly in the firelight. If anyone knew what the prisoners had done to get it, the sheer amount of work they had put into manipulating their guards and ensuring that the spells worked, even though their own magic had been bound for a long, long time, they would have been astonished. The prisoners had imbued the mirror with every ounce of the magic that they had once possessed in a desperate attempt to escape.

Their dreams had not yet come true, the magic of their captor far stronger than even their combined efforts and thus kept them trapped. But Miriam had not lingered in this world, and though her power remained as strong as ever, the people that worshipped her had long died out, and so had the guards, leaving them able to manipulate the outside world ever so slightly for such a long time. It might not have been much, but the prisoners had lived for several thousand years already, and so to them, a decade or century was like a week, and so accomplishing little did not bother them. They were prepared to play the long game.

It had taken them a millennium to get the mirror working again, but it was worth it, if only for the glimpses of the outside world. Neither one was entirely sure how it worked, but the images that the mirror showed fluctuated; sometimes it would depict the countryside and the weather, and during those times the prisoners could almost feel the wind and the rain on their sallow faces. At other times it would show current affairs; the two prisoners had watched the world endure war after war, with brother killing brother, and betrayal on every side. They had particularly enjoyed those times. More recently, however, the same images had been appearing again and again. If the prisoners had truly understood how the mirror worked, they might have realised when the same sights kept appearing, but they did not, and so the images that they saw became an obsession. They were absolutely certain that through those images they would be able to escape.

The woman stood before the mirror again, her gaze fixed upon the outside world longingly, and with no small amount of distaste. She would do that every day, stand before the mirror. Her cellmate was unsure of what she was actually looking for, but given his dislike for her, he was content to allow her to stare aimlessly at the mirror. Unless, of course, he wanted to leave, as he did at that time.

With a simple flick of his large, calloused hand, he had knocked her aside and taken his own place in front of the mirror. Although he could see the hatred burning in her eyes as she stiffened and clenched her jaw she stepped aside obligingly, allowing him to stare into the mirror.

“How much longer?” she demanded.

“Not much.”

His lips twitched up into a smirk, and his already harsh features twisted into an even harsher shape, the reflected firelight creeping up the side of his face and making him look even more malevolent than usual.

He had waited so long for this, and once he was free his revenge would be absolutely sublime. It had been nearly two millennia since Miriam had imprisoned the pair of them, and after the first decade of tantrum throwing, he had decided that he would escape, and once he did, he would get revenge on Miriam and her whole line, on those blasted allies of hers and on all of their lines too. He would wipe every last trace of them from this earth and there was no one who could stop him.

Of course, he had to escape first, and that would be tricky, as Miriam was a powerful witch who had poured every ounce of her desire for justice and vengeance into the wards keeping them trapped and he was certain of the fact that she wouldn’t have ever wanted him to escape. That was his punishment after all. He would never age, never grow old. And yet, time would pass, but he wasn’t supposed to have seen it. He was supposed to have been trapped there, in a cramped basement, with only his sister for company, sustained by the darkest of curses, while the world went on. He was never supposed to known how much time had passed. Miriam had left him no windows, no clock, no way to tell how much time had passed. He supposed that it was intentional, and he would have been proud of her for coming up with such a cruel punishment if she had used it on anyone but himself. He had always been fond of sending people mad, after all.

He had even managed to so while imprisoned. With his original captors long gone he had been able to influence their successors, men without magic, who could not withstand the little amount of magic that he retained in the cell, and they had done his bidding. At first it was just a few suggestions, but he knew as well as anyone else that there was power in suggestion, and that was the most wonderful thing about mortals; they were so willing to commit heinous crimes, and all of their own accord. So many of them had done such terrible things in his name, and they had never even met him.

Those days were over now though. The old guard had died out, and a new one had not arisen to take their place. But that no longer mattered, an end to his imprisonment was coming. He had planned it from the very first moment that he saw their faces, he knew that they would be the ones to free him. They were the final piece in his plan. Well, final three pieces. Few things had the ability to resist him, and while he was almost certain that these three would not be much of an exception, he knew he had to be careful; people were tricky, even when you thought you knew what they were like they could surprise you. Miriam had proved that.

Still, they would do what he wanted, he was sure of that. Even if they didn’t know it, they would be the ones to free him, he was assured of that. The mirror had shown him that.

For now, however, he was content to watch them. Nothing would stop him; nothing could stop him. His freedom had been ordained in the stars and nobody had the power to change that. Not even he did.

Lost in thought, he only caught a glimpse of the scene that had appeared in the mirror.

It wasn’t that different to the ones that had been cropping up more recently. It displayed a familiar room, with bright kingfisher blue walls and furniture made of a golden wood. Books and clothes were strewn across the floor but it was the figure in the bed that was the most noticeable.

A young boy was huddled in his duvet, his face pale and his eyes wide with fear, staring out of the mirror as though he could see the cell and its prisoners. He reached out a hand hesitantly, stretching towards the mirrored surface, but just as his fingers would have connected, he grasped thin air. A look of confusion crossed his face, and he looked around his room hesitantly.

The man paused in thought, reaching out to tap against the mirror three times.

In the far south of England, many miles away, Albus Severus Potter jumped as though he had been electrocuted. In mere seconds, his cheeks had become flushed and his vivid green eyes were even wider than before, this time with an added wildness. Ragged breaths were pulled from his chest, his heart beating painfully fast. A sheen of sweat coated both his forehead and the palms of his hands.

In the morning, he would not remember what had woken him up. In the morning, he would not recall the echoing noise that had sent fear racing through his spine. In the morning, he would only know that something dark had appeared, something that he could not name, but something that he was utterly afraid of, even if he had no idea what had caused such a thought.

Back in London, the man in front of the mirror laughed and everyone within a mile awoke in their beds, their souls burned by the coldness and the cruelty of a laugh that they could not hear and would never know.


	2. Moving Diagonally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Potters go shopping, and Ollivander unsettles Al.

Hazelwood wasn’t a very big, or a very famous place. It wasn’t a seaside resort or an industrial town and while it had a name that only residents could pronounce correctly, it wasn’t one of those quaint little villages, all quirkiness and quiet charm. Instead, it was just a tiny village in the North East of the Devonshire County, too far away from the beach to have the charismatic seclusion and ocean on the doorstep that so many people craved, and not close enough to the nearest town to be one of those historical villages where every building was protected and the residents could look down their noses on the occupants of the modern town that had been built comparatively recently.

The four hundred and fifty-seven people who lived there were very happy with it not being a large village, a famous place or even a quirky little place. A few shops, a pub, a doctor’s surgery, a post office, a little bookshop and a bus stop were all the services that it needed.

As it was a small village, everybody, from the youngest children to the oldest pensioners, knew the business of every other resident. The was the landlady of the local pub, Siobhan Cassidy, had a particular ear for gossip, and, every night a crowd would gather to hear the scandalous rumours that had been discovered. For a small place it had a large collection of rather disreputable people. Scandal was more at home in Happiselwood than it was in London, or New York, or even Essex.

For instance, when Fiona Wilkinson began an affair with her husband’s brother, the whole village knew within a week. It had been Dee Dee Smith, the owner of the local café, who had told everyone about Carly Johnston’s secret child with her stepfather. And when Aaron Fletcher had been murdered by his own sister so that she could be together with his girlfriend Jess, well, that had certainly been talked about over many beers, glasses of wine and several vodkas over at the pub. Needless to say, people with secrets weren’t uncommon in town. People with secrets that nobody knew, well, that was almost unheard of in Happiselwood.

There was only one family that nobody really saw and nobody really knew. They lived in the old farm house right on the outskirts of town. It wasn’t a huge house, but it had rather a lot of land, and the entire village was surprised when a relatively young couple arrived in Happiselwood with a baby in tow. The woman, with her flaming red hair, was quite obviously pregnant, five or six months perhaps. The man wasn’t tall, and he wasn’t handsome in the same way that most people found attractive, but there was a quality about him. A sort of aura that nobody could place. Something strong, and brave, something hopeful. He had purchased the property off young Kyle Simmons, the grandson of old famer Simmons, who had left him the farm in his will. Neither man intended for it to be a farm, but the new owner of Tannor Farm didn’t mind paying a huge price for a comparatively small farm with a lot of land that needed rather a lot of work.

When the couple moved in, the rest of the villagers expected them to be down in the pub and in the village shops almost every day. But they weren’t. They kept mostly to themselves, only coming into the village once or twice a month, never buying much though. Occasionally they would come into the pub for lunch but other than that, they were never seen.

It wasn’t until the oldest child was old enough to go to school that the villagers learned anything about the family. The boy who had just been a baby when he first arrived in the village with his parents was called James Sirius Potter. He was a strange child, but once the villagers had met the other two Potter children they considered young James relatively normal. He had the mischievous spirit that came from being loved greatly, and while he had a certain disregard for rules there was something endearing about him.

The same went for the youngest in the Potter family. Her name was Lily, and while on occasion she could be sweet, kind and delicate, much like the flower that she was named after, a more appropriate name for her might have been Venus flytrap. James fondly referred to her as Tiger-Lily, but the final Potter child, Albus, always called her Lily, most of the time his tone tinged with annoyance.

Albus was certainly an odd child. He was the strangest of the lot, the only things he shared in common with his siblings was the slight frame, and with his brother, the same dark, messy hair. His piercing green eyes were his most noticeable feature. They bore into you most disconcertingly, and at any moment a peculiar sensation could come over you; the sensation of all your secrets, all your thoughts, and even your soul being pulled out by the strangely serious gaze of that little boy.

He was a lot quieter than his peers. While they were content to run around screaming, playing games and having fun, Albus Potter preferred to sit inside, absorbed in a good book, his intense eyes sweeping the pages and the landscapes surrounding him. There was something about the eyes of Albus Potter. Something that no one could put their finger on.

Mr and Mrs Potter were no less strange than their children. They were never at home during the week when people came to call, and yet nobody ever saw them driving out of the village to go to work. According to their children Mr Potter did some sort of work for the government while his wife was a sports journalist for a newspaper. Nobody knew anything about the Potters and despite the burning interest the entire village held, they were perfectly content to keep their secrets.

There was, however, one man in the village, a strange man, somebody that they all feared, who knew the truth about the Potters. He had been the first to meet them, and it was he who had told them about the old farmhouse that would become their home. Every time the Potters came into the village he was there, watching the family of wizards as they went about their daily business.

* * *

Tannor Farm may not have been the biggest of houses, but it had a lot of land and the old farmhouse was beautiful in a strange, rustic, old-style manner. It was an L-shaped property, with just the two floors. The walls were made of large, grey slabs of stone, worn away slightly over time. Grey slate tiles, all lined up neatly made up the roof, though parts of it were obscured by Lichen yellow moss. The wooden door had been painted red several years ago and was fading slightly, flakes of paint chipped off in places. A golden door knocker in the shape of a lion’s head rested about three quarters of the way up. Though the rest of the house hadn’t been touched up in many a year the knocker gleamed brightly, as if it had been polished mere hours beforehand. The glass eyes of the house shone quietly in sunlight and reflected the twinkling stars at night. Ivy grew up one of the smaller sides of the house and crept round to the back. The green stalks clung to the stone and the curved leafs dangled down slightly. The chipped white paint of the windowsills and the clear glass of the single window that it surrounded seemed very out of place in the jungle of ivy.

It was this window, looking out for miles over the rolling hills of the countryside, all the way to the stormy green sea, that an eleven-year-old Albus Potter was sat beside, his pale cheek pressed against the cold glass, the black of his hair flat for once. The pale dawn light spilled into his room, kingfisher blue, making the vibrant walls seem faded.

A sighed escaped his lips, the warm breath coming to a rest on the cold window. A book rested on his lap, the thick parchment of the pages decorated in cursive print and delicately drawn images. Al, as the young boy preferred to be known, ran his fingers over the pages, his green eyes scanning the text, the strange words leaping out at him. He had been in the attic, searching through the old books, toys and clothes that had been stored there when he found it. The book was a huge, leather bound doorstop type, thick, pages and pages of tiny writing. It was the sort of thing Al’s cousin Rose aspired to read regularly. Al had always enjoyed a good book, he had always been seen by the villagers as being a bit odd because of that, but the size of the book Al had in his lap was ridiculous even by his standards.

He couldn’t understand a word of it. There was something strange about it though; something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Nobody else seemed to feel the same way about it, though Al knew that there was something wrong with it.

The loud, echoing bang that Al associated with mornings swept through the house. It was unusual for Al to be up before the fireworks went off. On a normal morning it would be the fireworks that woke him up, as peculiar as it might sound, but it was the truth. For some unknown reason, though Al speculated that it was because he had been dropped on his head multiple times at birth, his older brother James enjoyed setting fireworks off at ridiculous hours. Why he had to be related to utter idiots was beyond Al, but really, he would have thought that his parents would have realised that if they took the fireworks away, or locked James in a cupboard, then they wouldn’t wake up stupidly early every morning. Al personally preferred the cupboard option, but thought it best not to mention it to his parents. For some reason his father had a thing about cupboards.

Al shook his head in an attempt to clear out the cobwebs that had decided to store themselves there. He hopped off the little alcove seat and waded his way through the junk that littered his room. Al wasn’t usually this untidy, but honestly, he had more than enough on his mind, and tidying his room wasn’t top of his priority list, especially not when it was pointless chore that would just be reversed by James at the first opportunity.

After searching through a pile of relatively clean clothes Al managed to find a pair of jeans and a soft green t-shirt that he could wear without looking like he hadn’t slept in them. His hair on the other hand; now that was going to take some work. Al attempted to run a brush through his hair, but after the fourth time that he had to literally wrench it out of the rat’s nest he called hair, he gave up. Al sighed as he looked at the dark circles under his eyes in the mirror. The week of restless nights that had succeeded the discovery of the strange book had taken their toll on him.

As a sigh escaped his lips, Al allowed his eyelids to flutter shut. They rested there, unwilling to let the first peaceful moment in more than a week pass them by.

“What are you doing?” a voice from behind him asked, slightly disparagingly. Al let out a small groan as he let his eyes snap open. He turned around and looked at his older brother stood there cockily, a hand on his hip, and a smug smirk spread across his face. Al rolled his eyes and stooped to pick up a battered pair of converse trainers. When he straightened up again he found that James was still stood there, that smarmy look on his face.

“What do you want James?” Al sighed, not in the mood for his brother’s games.

“Mum told me to get you up ‘cos we’re going to Diagon Alley to get new school stuff,” James replied sourly before stalking out of the room. Al smirked, taking his reaction to mean that his older brother had been well and truly told off for some reason or another.

His smirk faded when he realised what James had just said. Going to Diagon Alley could only ever mean one thing. Shopping.

Al loathed shopping. It was just one of those things that only girls seemed to like. His mother and sister enjoyed it to no end while he just found the whole ordeal tiresome. While Lily and Mum liked wandering around aimlessly for hours in shops that quite blatantly would not sell what they needed, never buying anything in these shops, just looking, or as he was informed snottily by Lily when he asked why, “window shopping”, he preferred to get in, get what he needed and get out as quickly as possible. Even James enjoyed the trips to Diagon Alley, just so long as he could look in at Quality Quidditch Supplies or Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, his two favourite shops. Al enjoyed the fast paced broomstick sport of Quidditch and all of the extremes that came with it, but he would much rather play it, than drool over a set of gloves that had been signed by some second rate player that had only gotten onto the team because he was married to the team’s manager. The same went for WWW. Al got that it was brilliant, because it was. His Uncle George, the proprietor of the store, was brilliant. Honestly though, he would much prefer for the brilliance in pranking to be sold to other customers who could terrorise their families, instead of it being applied to winding him up.

Apparently though, needing a uniform and other equipment for the new school year made shopping a necessary evil. Al wished that all the shopping would be magically done, but he knew that that wasn’t how magic worked; sadly. Al sighed and began to make his way back downstairs.

When he reached the kitchen, which was by no means an easy feat considering the amount of toys, books and for some strange reason photo frames, some of them cracked, others complete, Al found that his parents and siblings were already there, waiting for him impatiently. Al inwardly smirked at the thought. It felt rather nice to be able to take his time, eat breakfast, and actually enjoy it for once; all the while having the excuse that everyone else had woken him up far too early at least three times a week.

Keeping this thought in mind Al leisurely made his way over to the toaster, popped a slice of bread in it and turned it up as hot as it would get. He then made his way over to the fridge, grabbed a jar of blackberry jam and then a knife from the cutlery draw. He leaned against the counter, tapping the steel against the marble counters, an innocent smile on his face as he ignored their grouchy expressions.

Once the toast had popped up, practically burned to a crisp, Al coated it in a thick layer of jam before taking a large bite out of it. He chewed slowly, savouring the sweet taste of satisfaction that came from making James, Lily and Mum suffer for waking him up so early on a regular basis. When he had finished he brushed the crumbs of his t-shirt and put the knife in the sink.

“So…” he grinned. “You ready to go shopping?”

“Finally,” James muttered, glaring at his younger brother. Al smiled sweetly.

“Shall I get the floo powder?” he asked. Dad rolled his eyes but nodded, keeping one eye on Mum and her steely nutmeg gaze.

The family of five traipsed through to the living room and stood in front of the fireplace. Al reached up for a small, polished wooden box that rested upon the mantelpiece. He flipped open the lid to reveal a glittery, silver powder. Al held it out to his mother first and she took a handful before making sure that Lily, James and Al himself each did the same. Dad took the box off Al and grabbed a handful too before shutting it and placing it back on the mantel.

“You first Al,” Mum told him sternly. Al would have rolled his eyes, but seeing as he had already pushed his luck a bit he didn’t want to be liable to make her explode. Though to be quite honest, at the rate he was going all Al would have to do to set her off was cough.

He had to stoop to get into the fireplace properly. Even though he was rather small and skinny for his age, the fireplace wasn’t enormous and so it was a bit of a squeeze. Just before he released the handful of glittering silver powder he cried clearly:

“Diagon Alley!”

The emerald flames engulfed him. They weren’t hot but they gave Al the strangest sensation. It felt as though he was being sucked down a giant drain. He was spinning very fast - the roaring in his ears was deafening -he tried to keep his eyes open but the whirl of green flames made him feel sick - something hard knocked his elbow and he tucked it in tightly, still spinning and spinning - now it felt as though cold hands were slapping his face - squinting through his eyelids he saw a blurred stream of fireplaces and snatched glimpses of the rooms beyond - his toast was churning inside him - he closed his eyes again wishing it would stop, and then –

He fell forward, his hands reaching out to break his fall, the hard slate of the stone floor of the Leaky Cauldron pub cold against his palms. Al winced in pain before scrambling out of the way. Knowing Lily and James either one of them would land badly and end up on top of him.

Less than a minute later he was proven correct as James came flying out of the fireplace, rolled out for several metres and crashed straight into someone’s table. Al rolled his eyes and sent the four witches sat at the table an apologetic smile as he dragged his brother off the floor and turned back to the fireplace where Lily, Mum and Dad were stood, brushing ash off their clothes.

“Hurry up you two!” Mum snapped at the two boys. Both of them rolled their eyes as soon as she turned her back but quickly followed after her as she marched out of the main area of the pub, flashing a grin at the landlady Hannah as they passed.

Al was rather glad to be out of there. The pub always went silent when his dad entered. Nobody would tell him why though. Al knew that his father had a lot of influence at the ministry, as head of the Auror office and personal friend of the minister he quite rightly would. But even with that, Al had never understood why places went silent when they walked in and apparently, his parents didn’t think that he needed to know. Al sighed at the thoughts as he followed the rest of his family through the bar and into a small, walled courtyard where there was nothing but a dustbin and a few weeds.

“Now then,” Mum began bossily. Al’s brain immediately switched off, paying more attention to his father as he counted three bricks up from the dustbin and then two across. He tapped the worn brick gently with his wand and then stood back.

The brick he had touched quivered – it wriggled – in the middle, a small hole appeared – it grew wider and wider – mere moments later they were facing an enormous archway, big enough for any person, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

Al might have grown up in this world, but even as they stepped through the archway and Al looked over his shoulder to see the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall he knew that he would never get over the amazement that came with entering Diagon Alley.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons – All Sizes – Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver – Self Stirring – Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them. Al knew that he would need one, it said so on his school list.

Sometimes Al wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping.

It had always been a fascination of Al’s. Even at home, in Happiselwood, nobody was normal. They couldn’t do magic like he could. They were muggles. But here, in Diagon Alley, well, normal witches and wizards went about doing their shopping in peace. No strange occurrences happened while they were shopping. They didn’t have the same issues with siblings as he did, and sometimes it was nice to watch these people going about their business and pretend that he was part of their family.

Outside the Apothecary, one of Al’s personal favourites, was a group of boys who looked a year or so older than James. They were bent double with laughter, and in the hand of one of the boys was a bag of what looked like Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products.

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium – Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Al was rather familiar with it. As a Christmas present eight months earlier he had been allowed to choose an owl. Al had decided on a beautiful Finnish Silver, with delicate silver and white feathers and brilliant amber eyes. He had eventually decided on the name Titania, thinking that the name suited his new owl.

Several boys of about Al’s age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. No doubt James would join them later, if their mother permitted it. There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments that Al had no clue how to use, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels’ eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon...

Towering above all the other little shops was a huge snowy white building. Standing next to the burnished bronze doors, dressed in a uniform of scarlet and gold was a goblin. He was perhaps a head shorter than Al, with a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard, and strangely long fingers and feet. Al was rather glad that they weren’t going to be entering; goblins gave him the creeps.

Instead they walked straight past the bank, heading towards Madame Malkin’s Robes for all occasions. Al had been in there once before, the year before last, when James had needed his first set of school robes.

“Mummy, can we go to see Uncle George?” Lily asked sweetly. Al rolled his eyes. He knew that Lily would certainly get what she wanted. Neither of his parents could say no to her, and while James’s complaints would be heard, Lily would still get her way. Al had learned long ago not to bother trying to dissuade his parents when it came to his sister. He would simply never win.

“Of course we can darling,” Mum replied, smiling. James looked outraged but bitterly kept his mouth shut. After poking her tongue out at her brothers Lily skipped off to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, Mum following behind her.

“Can’t I go too?” James moaned, knowing that he had a better chance with his father than with his mother. Dad shook his head and began making his way through the crowd to the door.

“Dad!” Al said sharply. Dad turned around and closed his eyes with a groan.

“For god’s sake!” He shook his head. “I’ll go and get him. You head into Madam Malkins; I’ll be there as soon as I’ve found him. Just tell her that you’re there for Hogwarts, and she’ll sort you out. I’ll be there as soon as possible, alright?”

It wasn’t really, but Al nodded in assent. He was aware that it wasn’t his father’s fault, it was James’, but that stop the stinging frustration that coursed through his body. Of course, had he been either James or Lily, he wouldn’t have been so acquiescent, but then there was a reason that he hadn’t been admitted to St Mungo’s for trying to drink Mrs Kiddenwinkle’s Magical Household Cleaner on a dare.

So, with a sigh he entered the deceptively small shop and almost ran into a rather elderly woman, who nonetheless beamed at him as he stopped abruptly.

“Hogwarts dear?” she asked, interrupting him before he could even open his mouth. Al nodded and she led him round the back. “Miss Quilt, my apprentice will take care of you. It’s been ever such a rush recently.”

Al didn’t know how to reply to that, so he just obliged and hopped up onto a stool while a young blonde woman dressed in mauve robes stepped forward to take his measurements and begin creating his robes.

It wasn’t the most comfortable process, but Miss Quilt was competent and efficient, and by the time that Dad entered the shop, James in tow, both of them looking unhappy, Al’s robes were almost finished.

Once Dad had paid for the robes which Madame Malkin herself folded up carefully and handed to Al, that beam still present on her face, they left the shop, and headed across the street to Al’s favourite shop, Flourish and Blotts. It was the mecca of bookshops, shelves and shelves bursting with books, leather-bound, hardback, paperback, on every topic and subject that was imaginable. There were books as large as paving stones, books that were tiny and covered in silk. Some of them were very wordy, while others, James’ favourites, had nothing but pictures in. There were some with strange symbols in and some written in different languages. There were books on history, modern and ancient, on hexes and jinxes, on charms and enchantments, on how to speak Mermish, although why someone would do that was slightly beyond Al, and even some books with familiar faces on, although Dad pushed both Al and James past those, promising that they could buy as many books as they liked. Al liked that plan. The first time that he had visited he had left with more books than he could carry and he hoped to repeat that this and every time.

James was sulking. Anywhere with more than three books was most certainly not his natural habitat and he resented it deeply. That might have been why Al liked bookshops so much, come to think of it. As Dad dragged James off to collect the new books that he would need, Al collected his. For the most part, he had the exact same book list as James, and it would have been more practical to just use James’ books, but James was not fond of books, and had lost or destroyed most of them last year, much to their parents’ annoyance.

With all of the necessary textbooks having been collected, Al found himself wandering over to the magical history section, when a young girl was peering up at the titles with unabashed curiosity. After a moment of contemplation, she slid a copy of The Decline of Pagan Magic off of the shelf and turned it to read the blurb.

“It’s not a bad read,” Al said, coming to stand next to her. “Bit dry in places but the general enthusiasm for animal sacrifice makes up for it.”

The girl laughed, and a small smile graced Al’s face.

“Good to know,” she replied. “I wouldn’t want to miss out on the animal sacrifice.”

“No one does,” said Al, sagely. The girl laughed again. She was very pretty, Al thought, with deep olive coloured skin, long dark curls and a pair of wide brown eyes that were almost black.

“I’m Eliza by the way,” the girl added.

“Al Potter,” Al said, slightly stunned.

“Nice to meet you Al Potter. Are you starting Hogwarts next year too?”

“Yes, are you?”

The girl nodded.

“My brother’s two years older than me, so Hogwarts is all I’ve been hearing about since then. It’ll be nice to finally see what all the fuss is about.”

“Muggle-born?” Al asked, unsure if he should actually be asking.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Not really, I’m just special.”

Eliza laughed again. Al was getting to quite like her laugh.

“Well, thanks for the advice on animal sacrifice Al Potter, but I’ve got to go now. Daddy’s probably going spare already; Alex has been pestering him about brooms for weeks already, and we’ve still got to go and buy a wand. But I’ll see you at Hogwarts, ‘kay?”

“Sure, bye!”

Al waved goodbye to Eliza as she went to go and pay for her books (in addition to The Decline of Pagan Magic she had a stack of books set aside that were so large that the shop assistant had to add an undetectable extension charm and a featherweight charm to her bag before she could leave). As Dad was distracted buying books for James, Al took the opportunity to pick up all of the books that he wanted, which were sure to come to far more than Dad had originally anticipated. Somehow, Al couldn’t find it in himself to be bothered.

Having finished at Flourish and Blotts, with a receipt that had a much larger number on it than Dad would have liked, Al, his brother and his father left to gather the rest of their school supplies.

First up was Potage’s Cauldron Shop; Dad only laughed when James asked for a solid gold cauldron, and though Al also rolled his eyes, he secretly thought it was quite cool. He was slightly disappointed by the standard pewter cauldron but he did get a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope.

Then they visited the Apothecary, which, though it smelled horrible, was absolutely fascinating. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Dad asked the woman behind the counter for a supply of basic potion ingredients for Al, and a slightly more complex set for James, Al examined silver unicorn horns at thirty Galleons each and miniscule, glitter-black beetle eyes at seven Knuts a scoop.

Ollivanders was last on their list. The last shop was narrow and slightly shabby. Bright gold letters on a peeling black sign over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that James threw himself upon to wait. Al felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library. A thousand questions burst into his mind as he looked at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. The back of his neck prickled, the hairs there standing up. The very dust and silence in the room seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

“Good afternoon,” said a soft voice. Al jumped. Dad only smiled but there was a crash which Al took to mean as James being shocked too.

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like silver moons through the gloom of the shop. Al did wonder whether he was to meet someone with bronze eyes before they day was out. Then he would have a complete medal table.

“Um, hi,” Al offered up.

The man looked at Al knowingly.

“Ah, yes,” the man nodded. “Yes, yes.” I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Albus Potter.” It wasn’t a question. “You inherited your grandmother’s eyes. It wasn’t so long ago that your father was in here too.”

“Indeed it was not,” Dad smiled.

“’Twas my uncle who sold you your wand Mr Potter. It has been nearly nineteen years since he retired but he still told me about your wand.”

Mr Ollivander moved closer to Al. Al wished that he would blink. Unlike Eliza’s warm golden eyes, Mr Ollivander’s silvery ones were a bit creepy.

“Eleven inches of the finest holly with a phoenix feather core. Nice and supple. Powerful, excellent for defensive magic, as you saw.”

Dad nodded with a fond look on his face, one hand going to the holster on his arm where he kept his wand.

“Your mother, now, she favoured a redwood wand. Nine inches. Solid. Less power, rather more suited to everyday magic, but still a wonderful wand. Well, I say your mother favoured it – it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course.

Mr Ollivander had come so close that he and Al were almost nose to nose. Al could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.

“Well, now – Mr Potter. Let me see…” He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. “Which is your wand arm?”

“Er – I’m right handed,” Al guessed. His father was right handed, and that was the hand with which he held his wand.

“Hold out your arm. That’s it.” He measured Al from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, “Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And, of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand. Isn’t that right Mr Potter.”

It was rather confusing, having Mr Ollivander address both him, and Dad, as Mr Potter.

“He’s right Al,” Dad grinned. “It doesn’t feel quite right with any other wand but your own.”

“Why don’t you try this one Mr Potter?”

All of a sudden Al realised that the tape measure, which was measuring between his left nostril and his right ear, was doing it on its own. Mr Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes. He handed the first one to Al.

“Go ahead,” he encouraged. “It’s cypress and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.”

Al took the wand and, feeling rather foolish, waved it around, but after nothing happened, it was snatched out of his hand by Mr Ollivander.

“Try this one. It’s pear and unicorn feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy.”

Al had barely raised the wand when Mr Ollivander took it from his hands again. Another wand was thrust into his hands and then promptly snatched from his fingers, followed by another, and another, and another. Each time, either nothing happened, or something disastrous did, and while Al was not opposed to small pieces of wood hitting his brother, he didn’t really want that to happen every time he tried to do a spell.

Oddly enough, Mr Ollivander seemed to become more and more encouraged as time went on, despite his shop being steadily destroyed by an eleven-year-old boy.

“Don’t worry Al,” his father comforted. “I was a tricky customer too. You’ll find the perfect match here somewhere.”

“Quite right, Mr Potter, quite right,” Mr Ollivander grinned at Al before disappearing into the back, presumably to hunt for more wands that Al could try.

James let out a yawn, and Dad threw a disapproving look his way.

“Be nice, James. Remember how long it took to get your wand?”

“Yeah, yeah,” James said dismissively. Dad opened his mouth to tell James off again but before he could Mr Ollivander had entered the room again with an old, dusty wand box clutched in his hands. The moment that he entered, Al felt a warmth run through him and the lid of the wand box was pushed off with a shocking amount of force, all by itself. Inside the velvet lined box the wand was sparking, and though Dad had gripped Al tightly by the shoulders when Ollivander moved towards him with a seemingly self-sparking wand, Al reached out a hand to brush his fingers against the polished wood, and smiled as he found his wand. 

“Excellent Mr Potter, absolutely excellent,” beamed Ollivander. “I have long wondered whom that wand was going to go to, and seems utterly fitting that it should go to you.”

“What do you mean?” Al frowned.

“This wand is Aspen. Aspen wands do not traditionally show sensitivity to their future owners, in fact, Vine wands tend to be the only ones to do such a thing.”

“Figures that Al would get a freak wand,” James snorted.

“Shut up James,” Dad and Al chorused, the former in annoyance, the latter in bitterness.

“This wand was given to my great-great-great-great grandfather many, many years ago. It was a collection of three wands, with an unknown core in each one of them. Many wand makers have tried, over the years to discover what core lies inside but nobody has been able to find out. These wands are temperamental; they dislike the magic or presence of all but their rightful owners. And Aspen is a highly prized wand. It is very well suited to martial magic. I should think, Mr Potter, that you will become quite the accomplished duellist in time. And given who your father is, I would not be surprised if you should fulfil the task of the Aspen owner, to become a revolutionary.”

“A revolutionary?” Al asked, his voice thick with scepticism.

“Oh yes, this wand was born to topple Empires. I think we shall be seeing great things of you Mr Potter. Great things indeed.”


	3. Steam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the train to Hogwarts the scions of the Potter and Malfoy families meet and break their cardinal rule: don't fraternise with the enemy.

_The Battle of Hogwarts, also known as the Final Battle of Hogwarts, was a conflict that signified the end of the Second Wizarding War. It took place within the castle and on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the unplottable regions of Northern Scotland. When Lord Voldemort (also known as You Know Who, He Who Must Not Be Named, and Tom Riddle) learned that Harry Potter was in the castle in order to locate and destroy one of his final Horcruxes, he ordered every Death Eater and magical creature that had pledged loyalty to him to attack the school. The rebel group known as Dumbledore’s Army communicated the need to fight to other resistance groups such as the Order of the Phoenix, leading to a large-scale battle in which hundreds of lives were lost on each side. It was in this battle that Lord Voldemort was finally defeated by the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter, in a duel to the death. It was a decisive victory for the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore’s Army. It also marked the dissolution of the Death Eaters, and the collapse of Lord Voldemort’s control over the Ministry of Magic._

The Battles of The Second Wizarding War, Kilda Geers

 

Those words swam through his head again and again, blurring into one, with two words being repeated over and over again. Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The name of the man who was currently sat less than a meter in front of him driving the small family of five towards King’s Cross Station.

 

Intellectually, Al knew that his father had been involved in the war, but his parents had never discussed it in such a way before. Dad had never told them that he had killed Voldemort.

 

Al closed his eyes and leaned his head against the car window. He had never enjoyed car journeys. It was probably the jolting movement of the car that did it for him but there was something distasteful about the conversation and company that was perhaps the true cause.

 

James, in particular, seemed to have a talent for turning what could be a mildly enjoyable journey, if there was one, to a torturous event. His favourite subjects in the car were Quidditch, how much of a failure Al was, how brilliant he was, his favourite Quidditch team the Appleby Arrows, every embarrassing time in Al’s life, the failures of Al (past, present and future) and how excellent he was at everything. Today, the topic of discussion was how exactly Al was going to betray the family. James announced that it would happen mere hours later as Al was a sure bet for Slytherin.

 

“…you’ll have to start eating mice!” James crowed. “That’s what snakes eat after all.” Al sent him a look, and his older brother simply snorted and returned to his teasing.

 

“James, give it a rest,” Dad told him with a touch of amusement. Al felt his muscles tense. Of course his father would side with James.

 

Silence had settled in the car for barely thirty seconds before Lily started to complain that she needed to wee “really bad daddy!” James decided to use their parents’ distraction to start teasing Al once again.

 

“Send me a postcard from the dungeons,” he snickered. Al gritted his teeth. “I heard that first years in Slytherin have to spend the first week in the mud and slime that hangs around the dungeon.”

 

“Oh shut up!” Al spat. James just smirked and Al sank back into his seat, his shoulders hunched over.

 

“I hope you packed all of your clothes,” James told Al. Confused by this remark Al let the words escape his lips before he could stop them.

 

“Why would I need to have done that?”

 

“’Cause once you’re in Slytherin you won’t be welcome back home,” James sniggered.

 

“Well it’s a good thing I won’t be in Slytherin then, isn’t it,” Al snapped. James raised his eyebrows mockingly.

 

“Whatever you say Albie,” he replied, deliberately using the nickname he knew Al hated. Al clenched his fists. The small amount of love that he had for his brother was slowly dwindling. “Of course, when you do get put there, you’ll be open to all sorts of pranks. I’ve been wanting to test Uncle George’s latest trick!” Al was beginning to rethink the slowly part of that.

 

He shook his head, and turned his slight frame away from his brother in the universal signal of “go away”. James huffed when he realised that he wasn’t going to get another rise from Al.

 

The jolting movement of the car was joined by the slight screech of the tires and the tapping of Al’s index finger against the door. Titania and James’ barn owl Ook were hooting softly in their laps. Ten minutes later, after winding through a series of dirty suburbs, various office buildings and a stream of traffic moving at a snail’s pace, Al slammed his door shut, ignoring the slight squawk that his beautiful owl gave.

 

Autumn had arrived early that year, Al mused, as he placed Titania’s cage upon the trunk laden trolley his father was pushing. The late morning of the first of September was as crisp as an apple, and as the five Potters bobbed across the rumbling road towards the great sooty station, the fumes of car exhausts and the breath of pedestrians sparkled like cobwebs in the cold air. Al clutched his jacket closer to him in an attempt to retain some heat. Both Titania and Ook hooted indignantly as their cages rattles on top of the trolleys that Mum and Dad were pushing. Al and James walked at the front, weaving through the throng of tourists and city workers, their parents were pushing the trolleys behind them and Lily trailed fearfully behind her brothers, clutching her father’s arm.

Dad’s voice drifted forward to the boys.

 

“It won’t be long, and you’ll be going to,” he assured her gently. Al rolled his eyes. The sooner Lily turned eleven the better. That way she wouldn’t be left out, as she so often complained about

being.

 

“Two years,” Lily sniffed. Though he couldn’t see her face he knew that his sister would have a pout upon it.

 

“You ready to join the snakes?” James asked. Al shot him a look.

 

He could see the commuters staring curiously at the two owls as the family made their way towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten.

 

“I won’t!” he snapped. “I won’t be in Slytherin!”

 

“James, give it a rest!” Mum told him sternly. James ignored her. As usual.

 

“I only said that he might be,” James retorted, sending a self-satisfied smirk at Al. “There’s nothing wrong with that. He might be in Slytherin.”

 

Al was certain that his brother would have continued his teasing but he caught their mother’s eye and fell silent. The five Potters approached the barrier. With a slightly cocky look over his shoulder at his younger brother, James took the trolley from Mum and broke into a run. He aimed the trolley straight at the barrier and a moment later, he had vanished.

 

“You will write to me, won’t you?” Al asked his parents immediately, capitalising on the momentary absence of his brother. The tiniest bit of doubt and uncertainty crept into his voice, the words: battle, Hogwarts, Lord Voldemort, Harry Potter, running through his mind once more.

 

“Every day, if you want us to,” said Mum kindly.

 

“Not every day,” Al replied quickly. “James says most people only get letters from home about one a month.” He knew this wasn’t true. He had seen his parents writing to James at least twice a week in the school year beforehand.

 

Sure enough, his mother confirmed this mere seconds later.

 

“We wrote to James three times a week last year,” she said frowning.

 

“And you don’t want to believe everything he tells you about Hogwarts,” Dad put in helpfully. Al resisted the temptation to roll his eyes and retort scathingly. Of course he knew that his brother wasn’t serious. James rarely was. “He likes a laugh, your brother.” As if Al didn’t know that. He was usually the victim of James’ sometimes cruel pranks.

 

Side by side, they pushed the second trolley forward, gathering speed. Al had never understood why they had to run. It seemed rather stupid. Dad and Aunt Hermione were always telling them that it was necessary for them to stay hidden. If muggles found out about magic they would want magical solutions for everything. Surely a group of people running at the solid barrier between two platforms and then suddenly disappearing into thin air would attract attention?

 

As they reached the barrier, Al winced. He did so every time he passed through the barrier. It had never occurred to him why he did so, but the sensation as he went straight through something that he should have hit.

 

Instead of the collision that Al was expecting, the family emerged onto platform nine and three quarters, which was obscured by thick white steam that was pouring from the scarlet Hogwarts Express. Indistinct figures were swarming through the mist, into which James had already disappeared.

 

“Where are they?” Al asked anxiously. He was peering at the hazy forms they passed as they made their way down the platform.

 

“We’ll find them,” Mum said reassuringly. Al found no comfort in those words. After all, the vapour was dense, and it was difficult to make out anybody’s faces. Detached from their owners, a voice sounded unnaturally loud, Al though that he heard his Uncle Percy discoursing loudly on broomstick regulations, and was quite glad of the excuse not to stop and say hello. By the look on his father’s face he was similarly pleased.

 

“I think that might be them, Al,” Mum said suddenly.

 

A group of four people emerged from the mist, standing alongside the very last carriage. Their faces only came into focus when Al, Lily, Mum and Dad had drawn right up to them.

 

“Hi,” Al said, sounding immensely relieved.

 

Rose, who was already wearing her brand-new Hogwarts robes, beamed at him. Rose may have been Al’s closest cousin but sometimes Al couldn’t stand her. The smug look on her face, especially when she wanted, or knew she was going to get, something, was particularly jarring.

 

Dad and Uncle Ron, Rose’s father, lifted Rose’s trunk onto the train, and then did the same with Al’s.

Lily and Hugo, Rose’s younger brother, were having an animated discussion about which houses they would be sorted into when they finally got to Hogwarts.

 

“If you’re not in Gryffindor, we’ll disinherit you,” Uncle Ron said seriously. “But no pressure.”

 

“Ron!”

 

While Uncle Ron was berated, and Aunt Hermione and Mum assured the pair that he didn’t mean it, Al caught sight of a small family, some fifty yards away. The steam had thinned for a moment, and three people stood in sharp relief against the shifting mist. Al wasn’t the only one looking at them, both Dad and Uncle Ron were staring too.

 

“Look who it is,” Uncle Ron muttered.

 

A pale man was standing there with his wife and son, a dark coat buttoned up to his throat. His hair was receding somewhat, which emphasised his pointed chin. A young boy of about Al’s age was by his side, a small smile upon his face. The boy resembled his father as much as Al resembled his. The blonde man caught sight of them all staring at him and nodded curtly, before turning away again.

 

“So, that’s little Scorpius,” Uncle Ron breathed. Rose snorted at the name, though Al didn’t find it funny, both he and the blonde boy seemed to have drawn the short straw when it came to names.

 

“Makes sure you beat him in every test, Rosie. Thank God you inherited your mother’s brains.”

Al let out a tiny sigh. Of course Rose would be praised for her intelligence. She was clever, but really, was she so clever that everyone else was ignored?

 

“Ron, for heaven’s sake,” Aunt Hermione sighed, half-stern, half-amused. “Don’t try to turn them against each other before they’ve even started school!”

 

“You’re right, sorry,” Uncle Ron said, but unable to help himself, he added, “Don’t get too friendly with him, though, Rosie. Granddad Weasley would never forgive you if you married a pureblood.”

That was certainly true. The Weasleys liked to intermingle their blood with those of different blood status’. Hypocrites, Al thought. The Weasleys might be known as blood traitors, but their blood was a pure as it came. At least until Aunt Hermione, anyway.

 

“Hey!”

 

James had reappeared; he had divested himself of his trunk, owl, and trolley and was evidently bursting with news. This wasn’t unusual. James could get excited about anything.

 

“Teddy’s back there,” he said breathlessly, pointing back over his shoulder into the billowing clouds of steam. “Just seen him! And guess what he’s doing? Snogging Victoire!”

 

He gazed up at the adults, evidently disappointed by the lack of reaction. This time it was Al who let out a snort. The entire family knew about Teddy and Victoire. They had done for weeks, and before that everyone had had an inkling about the pair for months. Everyone, it seemed, apart from James.   
He gazed up at the adults, evidently disappointed by the lack of reaction.

 

“Our Teddy! Teddy Lupin!”

 

“Like there’s another Teddy,” Al muttered under his breath. James ignored him.

 

“Snogging our Victoire! Our cousin! And I asked Teddy what he was doing…”

 

“You interrupted them?” Mum interjected. “You are so like Ron.”

 

“And he said he’d come to see her off! And then he told me to go away.” James paused. “He’s snogging her!” he reiterated, as though worried he had not made himself clear.

 

“Oh, it would be lovely if they got married!” whispered Lily ecstatically. “Teddy would really be part of the family then!”

 

Al scoffed silently. Teddy came round for dinner about four times a week. No doubt someone would like to invite him to live with them and have done with it. It couldn’t possibly be Teddy’s choice.

 

“Yeah!” James grinned enthusiastically in reply to something that Dad had said. “I don’t mind sharing with Al!” Al looked up sharply. James may not have minded, but he certainly did. “Teddy could have my room!” A horrified look slid across Al’s face. Sharing a room with his older brother was like a hell that he was yet to experience, and had no desire to do so.

 

Thankfully his father shared the same opinion and informed James in no uncertain terms that the only way the brothers would ever share a room was when he wanted the house demolished. Personally Al felt that he would only ever share a room with James when hell froze over, but he decided not to express that.

 

“It’s nearly eleven,” Dad said, checking his battered old watch. “You’d better get on board.”

 

Hugs were exchanged all round.

 

“See you later Al,” James aimed a kick at his brother after releasing his mother from a hug. “Watch out for the thestrals.”

 

“I thought they were invisible?” Al said. “You said they were invisible!” Had James been lying again?

He had a tendency to do so, particularly when Al was involved. Instead of answering James merely laughed, permitted Mum to kiss him, gave Dad a fleeting hug, then leapt onto the rapidly filling train. Al saw him wave, then sprint away up the corridor to find his friends.

 

“Thestrals are nothing to worry about,” Dad told Al kindly, as if he didn’t know that. “They’re gentle things, there’s nothing scary about them. Anyway, you won’t be going up to school in the carriages, you’ll be going in the boats.” Al decided not to point out that he knew that seeing as he was one of the younger members of his ridiculously large family, and that eight people had already gone through their first year, each of them going in the boats.”

 

Al found himself caught up in his mother’s hug, allowing her to kiss him goodbye.

 

“See you at Christmas,” she smiled.

 

“Bye Al,” Dad said softly as he hugged him. “Don’t forget Hagrid’s invited you to tea next Friday. Don’t mess with Peeves. Don’t duel anyone till you’ve learned how.” Al nodded at each of them in turn. “And don’t let James wind you up.” Al bit his tongue. He didn’t want to be rude, not when he was saying goodbye.

 

“What if I’m in Slytherin?”

 

The whisper was for his father alone, and Al was sure his father knew that only saying goodbye to his family for the first time could have forced him to reveal how deep and sincere the fear of disappointing his family was.

 

His father crouched down so that Al’s face was slightly above his own. Al knew that, out of his father’s three children, he alone had inherited his grandmother’s eyes.

 

“Albus Severus,” he was told quietly, so that nobody but his mother could hear, and she was tactful enough to pretend to be waving to Rose, who was now on the train, though Al caught a glimpse of her looking at them. “You were named for two headmasters of Hogwarts.” Al knew that. He had heard the story many times. “One of them was a Slytherin and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew.”

 

He wasn’t getting it. The fear that Al had wasn’t of being sorted into Slytherin, but then his father would never understand the true fear that was deep rooted inside of him.

 

“But just say…” Al began, but he was interrupted.

 

“Then Slytherin House will have gained an excellent student, won’t it? It doesn’t really matter to us Al.” That Al didn’t believe. “But if it matters to you, you’ll be able to choose Gryffindor over Slytherin. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account.” Al was about to open his mouth, but then his father’s words sank in.

 

“Really?” he asked. His father nodded.

 

“It did for me,” he told him. A look that Al was sure was a mix between astonishment and thoughtfulness slid across his face.

 

Doors were slamming all along the scarlet train, and the blurred outlines of parents swarming forward for final kisses, last minute reminders, Al jumped into the carriage and his mother closed the door behind him. Students were hanging from the windows nearest them. A great number of faces, both on the train and off, seemed to be turned toward Dad.

 

“Why are they all staring?” Al demanded, pleading silently for his father to tell the truth.

 

“Don’t let it worry you,” Uncle Ron informed them. “It’s me, I’m extremely famous.”

Al, Rose, Hugo, and Lily laughed. The train began to move, and Dad walked alongside it. The last trace of steam evaporated in the autumn air. The train rounded a corner. Dad’s hand was still raised in farewell.

 

“Come on,” Rose said to Al bossily. “Let’s get a compartment.” Al was too tired to argue with her so instead, he simply nodded. They made their way down the train, searching for an empty compartment. When they finally reached one Al entered it, and threw himself down on the seat next to window.

 

Houses flashed past the window as the train sped up. A great leap of excitement leapt through Al’s entire being. Hogwarts was calling to him.

 

Rose immersed herself in a book almost immediately while Al took to staring out of the window, his cheek resting upon the cold glass, just as it had done in the car. He watched the streets of London go by and gazed at the muggles going about their business, completely unaware of the eight hundred witches and wizards hurtling at ninety miles an hour towards a magical school up in Scotland. How boring their lives must be.

 

Just as Al was musing over this the compartment door slid open and the pale blonde boy whose father they had been staring at earlier entered.

 

“Do you mind if I sit here?” he asked, gesturing to an empty seat.

 

“Sure,” Al said, studying him curiously. “I’m Al, by the way, Al Potter.” The boy nodded, a look of understanding on his face.

 

“Scorpius Malfoy,” he returned with a grimace. “I was told to stay away from the Potters.”

 

“And we were told to stay away from you,” Rose said disapprovingly, looking up from her book. Al sighed.

 

“That’s Rose,” he explained. “My cousin.”

 

“A Weasley?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“That explains it,” Scorpius said with a grin. “Luckily though, our parents can’t see us, so they won’t know that I’ve been associating with a Weasley and a Potter.” Scorpius sent a wicked grin at Al who found himself laughing.

 

“It’s our secret,” Al smirked. Scorpius grinned.

 

Over the next few minutes Al found that he had an easy rapport with Scorpius. They got on well, talking about Hogwarts, Quidditch, and, at around half twelve, when the witch with the sweet trolley came round, sweets.

 

“Who did you get?” Scorpius asked as he bit the head off of a chocolate frog.

 

“Some guy called Dzou Yen,” Al said, showing him the card. “It says that he was a Chinese Alchemist.” Scorpius nodded appreciatively. Al studied the card.

 

Dzou Yen (also known as Zou Yan or Tsou Yen, 305BC – 240BC) was a Chinese mystic who lived in the state Qi during Spring and Auntimn Period, an era of political turmoil preceding the total collapse of the Zhou Dynasty. He is considered one of the founders of Chinese scientific though. He is credited with refining the theories and the Five Elements and Yin and Yang, though his writings are now lost.

 

“Sounds interesting,” Scorpius said, now sucking on a liquorice wand, ignoring the disapproving look Rose was shooting him.

 

Al turned the card over and studied the Chinese wizard’s image. He frowned slightly and then turned to the growing pile of chocolate frog cards. Most of them he already had, but there were a few, like Agrippa, Mopsus and Herpo the foul, which Al hadn’t seen before.

 

Once Al and Scorpius had demolished the pile of chocolate frogs they started on the four boxes of Bertie Bott’s every flavour beans that they had purchased. Rose had looked at them disapprovingly when they came back into the compartment their pockets considerably lighter and their arms laden with every type of sweet that the Hogwarts express sold, and that was a huge amount. Her displeasure at their purchase didn’t stop Rose from eating two of Al’s pumpkin pasties and about five chocolate frogs, all the while sniffing critically as the boys indulged themselves.

 

The train had sped far away from London and the countryside now flying past the window was getting wilder. The neat fields had vanished. Now there were woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills. After several hours of gorging on sweets Al desperately needed to use the loo and figured that as they were approaching school he might as well get changed at the same time.

 

Following this logic, Scorpius exited the compartment after Al, and they made their way down the train, searching for the loo.

 

Scorpius was still getting changed, or, as Al more likely suspected, redoing his hair, by the time Al had relieved himself and got changed. He was leant against the wall when he heard a familiar lilting voice.

 

“Hello, Al Potter.”

 

Al turned to look, and smiled when he saw Eliza from the bookshop leaning against the opposite wall, a pretty smirk on her face. She too was dressed in her Hogwarts robes, although she looked infinitely better in them than Al did.

 

“Eliza,” he greeted her warmly. “How are you?”

 

“Not bad,” she shrugged. “Bit bored of the train though. You’d think wizards would be able to create a quicker form of transport than the steam engine.”

 

Al nodded in understanding.

 

“What about you?”

 

“Me? I’m fine, I guess. It’s nice to be away from home, although James is still here, so I guess I brought home with me.” Al grimaced. That was not the most pleasant of thoughts.

 

“Anyway, I’ve got to go, sorry,” Eliza apologised. “Alex will be looking for me. He’s terribly overprotective. But I’ll see you after the sorting, yeah!”

 

She waved goodbye to Al before he had a chance to reply and then headed back down the corridor, stopping at the entrance to a compartment further up and entering it.

 

Al let out a long sigh.

 

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone miserable already!”

 

Al jumped at Scorpius’s voice. The blonde boy was standing right behind him, dressed in his uniform. He was frowning slightly but Al just offered up a small smile and gestured down the corridor.

 

When the boys reached their compartment again Al looked out of the window. It was getting dark. Mountains and forests could be seen under a deep purple sky. The train did seem to be slowing down too. Al rested back on his window seat, gazing out at the darkening sky.

 

Moments later a voice echoed through the train: “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.”

Al’s stomach lurched with nerves and as he looked around Scorpius seemed even paler than normal, and Rose was slightly green under her freckles. Both boys crammed their pockets with the few remaining sweets and joined the crowd thronging the corridor. Several meters ahead, the dark curls that Al was certain belonged to Eliza caught the light as she turned her head to talk to the group of boys that she was with.

 

The train slowed right down and finally stopped with a great lurch that sent Al crashing forward into Scorpius. People pushed their way toward the door and out onto a tiny, dark platform. Al shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Al heard a familiar voice: “First’ years! Firs’ years over here! All right there, Al?”

 

The huge hairy face belonging to a lifelong friend of the Potters beamed over the sea of heads.

 

“Hagrid!” Al grinned back.

 

“C’mon, follow me – any more firs’ years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’ years follow me!”

 

Slipping stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Al thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. A blonde girl squeaked in fear every time someone stepped on a twig. A girl who looked rather like a pug seemed to enjoy her squeals and after the first three she took particular care to tread on as many as possible.

 

“Ye’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” Hagrid called over his shoulder. “Jus’ round this bend here…”

 

There was a loud “Oooooh!”

 

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a vast black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a great castle with many turrets and towers.

 

“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats resting in the water by the shore. Al, Scorpius and Rose were followed into their boat by a boy with sandy blonde hair while Eliza pushed past the pug faced girl to join the squealing girl in her boat.

 

“Everyone in?” shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. “Right then – FORWARD!”

 

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

 

“Heads down!” yelled Hagrid, as the first boats reached the cliff. Everyone ducked their heads and allowed the little boats through a thick curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. Scorpius made a small whimpering noise as a cobweb got tangled in his hair. Al attempted, and failed, to keep his sniggers to himself. Scorpius just glared.

 

They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbour, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

 

“Watch where you’re going!” Eliza hissed at Rose as Al’s closest cousin moved forward, closer to Hagrid, pushing her into the slimy wall of the cave. Rose was about to retort rudely when Al pulled her out of the way.

 

“Oy, you two! Break it up!” called Hagrid, seeing the death glares that the two girls were shooting each other. Neither girl moved, their limbs stiffly tensed, their bright eyes steely and determined.

 

“Rose come on,” Scorpius said gently. Rose glanced at Al who nodded, steely faced himself.

 

“Fine,” his cousin ground out. Tossing her hair in the air Rose pushed her way to the front of the group. Al and Scorpius followed after her.

 

Then the group clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid’s lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

 

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

 

“Everyone here?”

 

Robes swished as practically everyone looked around, searching for anyone missing. There was a murmur of assent.

 

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.


	4. A Slytherin Sorting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first years get sorted, Rose clashes with Eliza, and Slytherin had surprisingly good taste in interior decorating

The door swung open the second that Hagrid’s massive, hairy hand had been removed from the door. In the threshold stood a tall, golden-haired wizard in navy blue robes. He looked powerful and stern, and as he swept his eyes across the assembled first years, Al recognised that this was not a man to be crossed.

“The firs’ years, Professor Io,” said Hagrid.

“Thank you, Hagrid,” the man acknowledged with a slight incline of the head. “I shall take them from here.”

He pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big that you could have fit Tannor farm in there at least three or four times, and still have space left over. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was far too high to make out, and as Al turned his head a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor Io across the flagged stone floor. Al could hear the drone of hundreds of voices chattering away excitedly from a doorway to the right – the rest of the school must have already arrived – but the golden haired Professor Io showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would have usually done, peering about nervously.

“Welcome,” said Professor Io. “To Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The start of term banquet will begin very soon, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you shall be sorted into your houses.” He raised his eyebrows, as if questioning whether the children in front of him were capable of understanding such matters. “The Sorting is a ceremony of vital importance because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. A noble history belongs to each of the houses, and each of them has produced outstanding witches and wizards.” He paused, his eyes darting over to two sniggering boys. “Is there a problem, gentlemen?” There was silence from the two boys who weren’t stupid enough to answer back. “I assure you that each and every one of the houses has produced truly great witches and wizards, just as all of them have had some less savoury characters. Any bullying based upon your house is not accepted here at Hogwarts and will be punished severely.

“While you are here at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour. I expect that each and every one of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.” Professor Io’s eyes swept over the hundred or so students crowded in front of him. “The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting. I shall return when we are ready for you.”

It might just have been Al’s imagination, but he was almost certain that just before Professor Io left the room, his eyes lingered on Al and Scorpius.

“How exactly do they sort us into houses?” the squealing blonde girl from before asked nervously. A round of whispering broke out around the room, people describing the various things that their siblings had told them about. Most of them were utterly ridiculous. Al thought he even heard one person telling their friend that they had to wrestle a troll. It sounded like the sort of think James would have told him. In fact, Al was fairly certain that it was one of the lies that his older brother had sneered at him.

He looked around, the anxiety he had felt earlier returning in waves, and saw, much to his relief, that everyone else looked terrified as well. Even Scorpius was biting his lip nervously. Only Rose and Eliza looked at all content, but the nervous whispering from around the room seemed to irritate Rose while Eliza, who obviously knew what was coming, seemed entertained by the wild theories that were thrown around.

Al kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor Io would return and he would have to face up to his fears. Al hadn’t felt this nervous, jumpy or nauseated since Lily had fallen into the river a few years ago not being able to swim. His head spun slightly and he had to shake his head in an attempt to get rid of the splashing sound that was echoing through his mind. He was so focused on the door that he didn’t even notice what had happened until he heard several people behind him screamed.

“What the –?” Al nearly swore when he saw what had made people scream.

About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the new first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: “Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance –”

Fat little monk, Al thought. It must be the Fat Friar! Al had heard stories of him. And there! The ghost wearing a ruff and tights! That had to be Nearly Headless Nick! Teddy said that it was usually Nick who noticed the first years, and sure enough, moments later, after disagreeing with the Friar he exclaimed: “I say, what are you all doing here?”

There was a moment of silence. Then…

“Seriously?”

It was Eliza.

“You do this little act every year. My brother told me so. You know what we’re doing here, and we know that you just did that to try and, I don’t know scare us? Impress us? Whatever it was, it wasn’t very effective.”

The ghosts were silent for a moment. Then Nick seemed to regather his courage.

“Well, I suppose that you’ll be the new first years, is that correct?”

“We are, thank you for asking,” Rose beamed up at them, and Eliza rolled her eyes so hard that Al was afraid she might never be able to see properly.

“Such a try hard,” Eliza scoffed. Rose whirled around, her hair crackling with static electricity and magic as she turned on Eliza, who looked back impassively.

“Are you trying to insult me?”

“Not trying, succeeding.”

Al was fairly certain that there was raw magic and anger crackling through the air surrounding the two girls and he was rather pleased when a sharp cough came from behind him, announcing the entrance of Professor Io.

“The Sorting Ceremony is about to start,” he announced. The ghosts seemed to get the message immediately, and one by one they floated away through the opposite wall. Rose and Eliza were still scowling at each other, although much of the tension between them had disappeared, neither one willing to get on the wrong side of a teacher so early in the school year.

“Now, form a line,” Professor Io ordered the first years. “And follow me.”

Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, Al stepped into the line behind almost everyone else. The line of first years walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of beautiful golden double door into the Great Hall.

Though he had visited Hogwarts many times in his young life, Al had never imagined that Hogwarts could provide such a strange and splendid sight. The Great Hall was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in mid-air over the four long house table, where the rest of the students were sitting. The tables were laden with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor Io led the trembling and utterly amazed first years up towards this table, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone must silver. Gasps came from all around him and Al copied them in looking up at the ceiling. He understood the gasps now. While he had seen it on grey mornings with cloudy skies, the sight of a velvety black sky dotted with bright, twinkling stars. If he had been listening he would have heard Rose whisper, “It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside.” It would probably be followed by a reference to Rose’s favourite book Hogwarts, A History. Still, it was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn’t simply open up to the heavens.

Al quickly looked down again as Professor Io silently placed an old three-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool he put a pointed wizard’s hat that he had produced from behind his back. The hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Mrs Sloane, Al’s year three teacher at Hazelwood Primary School, who was a complete neat freak, wouldn’t have touched it with a barge pole.

Everyone in the hall was staring at the hat, and once again Al followed their gaze and stared at the filthy hat. For a few seconds there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. Al nearly jumped out of his skin at that. A rip near the brim opened wide, like a mouth, and Al knew that the sorting was imminent.

His heart beat faster and faster, and all he could focus on was the mouth of the hat, moving as it sang, though Al couldn’t have told anyone exactly what it had been saying, so distracted was he.

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. Several boys on the table second to the left were wolf whistling at the hat but quickly quietened down after Professor Io shot them a glare. That hat bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

Professor Io stepped forward holing a long roll of parchment.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” he said. “Adams, Annabel!”

A small girl with russet coloured hair in a French plait stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moments pause –

“GRYFFINDOR!” shouted the hat.

The table on the far left exploded with cheers; Al could see his brother and cousins catcalling and the ghost of Nearly Headless Nick waved at her.

“Anderson, Jennifer!”

“RAVENCLAW!” the hat shouted this time, and the table second from the left, the one with the wolf-whistling boys, yelled and screamed as another girl, this one with long blonde hair, scuttled off to join her new house.

“Azacardi, Marcus,” was called and after a moment the Hufflepuff table cheered and clapped, the Fat Friar joining in merrily.

“Baron, Rafael,” went to Hufflepuff too, but “Bailey, Eoin,” became the first new Slytherin, and the table on the right greeted their new student with a round of applause.

Perhaps it was Al’s imagination, but every table in the hall seemed to be seizing him up, checking to see whether he was worthy of their house. He was starting to feel definitely sick now. At school back in Hazelwood no one wanted the Potter weirdo on their team so he was usually last to be picked for sports. It didn’t help that James teased him and made fun of him at every opportunity.

“Fisher, Iona!”

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Sometimes, Al noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but for others it took a little while to decide. “Garrick, Cassandra,” a harsh looking brunette stood three people in front of Al sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared her a Ravenclaw.

“Gates, Bradley!”

Bradley practically ran up to the stool and was there for about three seconds before the hat screamed “GRYFFINDOR!”

When “Goldberg, Eliza,” was called, Al watched as Eliza, previously so calm and collected, made her way up to the stool and sat there, her long fingers clutching at the edges, her knuckles white and clenched. Al couldn’t see her eyes as the hat covered them, but her face was set firmly into a scowl, her snarling mouth twisted.

“SLYTHERIN!” the hat screamed after a few minutes. There was a very brief moment of silence and then the table clad in green and silver began cheering as the sorting began yet again.

Al watched as pair of Chinese twins were called up. “Ling” and “Ling” and then “Locke, Helena.” Helena and one of the twins went to Ravenclaw, while the other joined the house of the scarlet and gold.

Then it was Scorpius’ turn.

The blonde boy made his way up slowly when Professor Io called his name. Many of the students, the ones predominantly from Gryffindor, hissed at him and Al couldn’t help but feel for the younger boy as the hat dropped over his eyes.

He was sat there a surprisingly long time, not nearly as long as Eliza, but still, a long time.

After a while the hat screamed “SLYTHERIN!” and Scorpius got off the stool and made his way down to the Slytherin table, sending a look of apology at Al. Al replied to that with a small shrug as he waited to be called.

Nearly three quarters of the students had gone by now and it was almost Al’s turn. “Newvelle” “Nottingham” “Oliver” “O’Reilly” “Parks” “Patel” “Patterson” “Phillips” and then, at last – “Potter, Albus!”

As Al stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

“Potter, did she say?”

“Harry Potter’s boy?”

“A galleon he’ll be in Gryffindor!”

“Well of course he will. All of his family is Gryffindor.”

Al ignored them as best as he could. The last thing Al saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

“Hmm,” said a small voice in his ear. “Aren’t you just a mess of hormones and fears? You’re quite courageous, I suppose, although I don’t think Gryffindor would suit you; too much rushing headlong into danger, and we both know how you feel about that. No, not Gryffindor, perhaps Ravenclaw? You’ve certainly got a sharp mind, and a love of learning. Hufflepuff is, I think, out of the question. You want to be pushed, you want to be brilliant, and better than anyone else, don’t you?”

“Not everyone,” Al thought back. “Just Rose, really.”

If the hat could laugh, Al suspected that it would have done.

“Oh, but there’s more to your ambition that just your cousin, Mr Potter. You want so desperately to prove yourself, to be better than your family, to show them how good you are, how wrong they were to dismiss you for all these years, to lie to you. You want what you deserve. And I know just where you’ll find that.

“Slytherin?” Al asked.

“I’m glad that we’re in agreement.” Al could feel the hat smirking, and a look of horror spread over his face as he anticipated its next move. “SLYTHERIN!”

The silence in the hall was deafening, and Al looked panicked as the hat was removed from his head. He stared over at the Slytherin table, all of them, including Scorpius, looking quite shocked. It took Professor Io’s gentle tap to get him moving, and he walked shakily over to his new house, sliding into the seat next to Scorpius, the other Slytherins peering at him curiously.

He could see the high table properly now. At the end farthest away from him sat Hagrid, who was looking away from him. Al could feel his heart sinking. At the centre of the high table, sat in an ornate golden chair, was the Headmaster. Al had seen him around before. He was always at the remembrance services that Al had attended at the school. Somehow though, Al had never learned of his name. In the letters that came home about James’ behaviour, they were always addressed from Neville Longbottom, the head of Gryffindor house. The man had a strange presence about him, there was definitely an aura of power about him, and Al felt strangely comfortable. He was still looking at his Headmaster when the man turned his head towards him. Al’s breath caught in his throat but the man nodded gently to him, his eyes the same velvety black as the sky, and Al felt himself relax.

He glanced back at the only six people remaining to be sorted. “Thurman, Gina” followed her twin brother into Ravenclaw just before “Vermont, Nikolas” slid into the seat alongside Eliza Goldberg who sent him a disparaging look.

Then it was Rose’s turn. Sure enough, barely a moment after the hat touched her bushy haired head it screamed “GRYFFINDOR!” and Rose skipped off to join the rest of Al’s family.

Al didn’t even bother to watch as “White, Damon” “Wilkinson, Gabrielle” and “Winters, Bernadette” were all sorted into Hufflepuff. Out of the corner of his eyes Al saw Professor Io rolling up his scroll and taking the sorting hat away.

The empty gold plate in front of Al made him realise just how hungry he was. The pumpkin pasties and various sweets he’d eaten at lunch seemed like ages ago.

His eyes then drifted towards the Headmaster who had gotten to his feet. He smiled graciously at all of the students, his dark eyes twinkling with a kind of secret humour that Al was sure nobody but he understood.

“Welcome,” he greeted them all with a truly genuine smile. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! For those who do not know me I am Professor Quidel, Headmaster of this establishment. Before we begin out banquet I have a small announcement to make. Professor Roper, who has taught most of you, has decided to take a sabbatical so that she may take care of her family. Fortunately, I am delighted to say that Professor Highclere, who some of our seventh years may remember, has accepted my request to reprise his role as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.”

There was a smattering of applause and a man of about thirty stood up and gave a small bow.

“Thank you,” Quidel said when the applause had died down. “Now, let the feast begin!”

Al’s mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had seen incredible things with magic but even with his experiences at his grandparent’s house he had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas carrots, gravy, ketchup, mayonnaise, and, for some strange reason, bowls of hard, flat, orange sweets.

Al piled his plate with a bit of everything. In his family people ate as much as they could as quickly as they could. His cousins had no manners and so if you wanted to eat whatever you wanted, you had to get in fast. Too many times James had taken anything that Al really wanted, even if he hated it. Al licked his lips as he began to eat.

A sensation like being plunged into a bucket of ice washed over him as a horrible ghost with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face and robes stained with silver blood floated through him. He shuddered and Scorpius slid up slightly so that the ghost could rest in between them.

“Relax,” a girl sat further up the table said, grinning at him. “It’s just the Bloody Baron. He’s quite gentle really. If you get on his good side that is. Just don’t ask him how he got blood stained, he doesn’t like that.”

Al nodded slowly.

“Don’t ask him about the blood, got it!” he said with a weak smile. The older girl smiled kindly at him.

“You’ll be fine kid. You’re a Slytherin. As far as we’re concerned, once that hat declares you a snake, you’re one of us, one of the elite. Everybody in this house is destined for greatness. If we weren’t, if we didn’t have the potential for greatness, then we wouldn’t be sorted here.” Al nodded. “You’re one of us Albus.”

“Al,” he corrected quickly, and then blushed.

“Al, then,” the girl smiled. “When you’re one of us, we look out for you. It’s how Slytherins do things.”

“She’s right,” a boy sat next to her said. “You’re a snake now. One of us.” Al was strangely comforted by the thought of the people he had been taught to hate looking out for him.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them a sparkling golden colour, just as they were before. A moment later the puddings appeared. Scoops of ice cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, strange blocks of jelly, rice pudding and little balls covered in sesame seeds.

As Al turned back to Scorpius and his new housemates he found that the talk had turned to families. Almost none of the first year Slytherins were purebloods he found, and a great deal of them seemed proud of it.

“I’m half and half,” said Carlton, flicking his fringe out of his eyes. “Mum’s a muggle. Dad met her just after the war. She was pregnant with me and Matt before she even found out about magic.” Bit of a nasty shock for her.”

The others laughed.

“What about you Eliza?” a Hispanic girl by the name of Carmen asked. Eliza turned her head.

“Muggleborn through and through I’m afraid,” she said, a challenging glint in her dark eyes. Most of the others seemed comfortable with her confession, though there were one or two pursed lips. Al took note of their faces, and was pleasantly surprised to see both Scorpius and Eliza doing the exact same thing.

Scorpius and Al swapped places halfway through pudding and he was talking with the brunette girl who had reassured Al earlier about lessons. Though Al’s blonde friend had scoffed at Rose’s devotion to academia on the train, he seemed very interested in the classes (“Transfiguration sounds rather interesting, I hope we start right away,” “You’ll start small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing –,”).

A sleepy sensation was beginning to surround Al and he looked up at the high table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet and still avoiding Al’s gaze determinedly. Professor Io was deep in discussion with a young witch with long chestnut brown hair and rich brown eyes. Professor Neville Longbottom, a friend of Al’s family, was talking to Professor Highclere, a clean shaven man who had bright blue eyes.

The only person at the high table not conversing with someone was Professor Quidel. He wasn’t touching his food, instead he was gazing thoughtfully, and quite plainly, at the Slytherin table. Al wasn’t quite sure why he was doing so, but his gaze seemed to be locked on either Al, or Scorpius. When he saw Al looking he nodded, raising his own golden goblet slightly in Al’s direction. Al turned back to the conversation, but after a moment he returned to look at Professor Quidel. He was still gazing at the Slytherin table.

Al blinked, and in the second that it took him to do so, Professor Quidel had been engaged in conversation with a wisp of witch. He watched him for a while but the headmaster didn’t look at him again.

At last, the puddings too disappeared, and Professor Quidel got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

“I’m sure you are all sick to death of listening to me, particularly the seventh years,” there was a smattering of laughter around the hall. “But for the benefit of the new students, I have a few start of term notices to give you.

First years should note that the forest on the grounds id forbidden to all pupils. A few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” Quidel’s gaze was directed at the Gryffindor table in the direction of James. “And under no circumstances are you to sell, or purchase, “tours of the Forbidden Forest: mystery, magic and malevolence all rolled into one”” Quidel looked directly at the Ravenclaw table and about halfway down a group of teenage boys cheered.

Quidel shook his head.

“I have also been asked by Mr Custodian, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. All magic is included in this. Hexes, curses, jinxes, any spell whatsoever.”

This time he looked at the Slytherin table.

“Quidditch trials will be held in the fourth week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house team should contact Madame Euphorie.”

Al and Scorpius exchanged grins.

“I believe that is the end of the announcements, so I shall allow you all to go off to your most comfortable beds. Prefects, lead the way.”

The Slytherin first years followed the brunette girl that both Al and Scorpius had conversed with through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and down through a passageway concealed in the stone wall. Al’s legs felt like lead, mostly because he was so tired and full of food. He was too sleepy to even take notice of the moving people in the portraits, whispering and pointing as they passed. He was sure that he would never remember the route that the girl, who then introduced herself as Gemma, took them on, through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Al was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

The corridor was a dead end. Silken tapestries hung on the walls and for the first time since Al had just left the Great Hall, he saw no portraits decorating the stone walls.

Gemma stopped in front of a stretch of bare white wall. Al could hear the steady drip of water onto the ground. It wasn’t really surprising; they were so far under the school that they must be under the lake. Gemma flashed a grin at the first years.

“Anguis,” she announced and the stone wall slid upwards to reveal the Slytherin common room. Everyone stepped through and once they were through the door slid back in place.

Al was rather amazed at the common room. It was incredible. The room was rectangular in shape, made of rough stone with a low ceiling. Brass lamps hung from the ceiling emitting a bronze glow. The fire that crackled in the grate sent shadows dancing across the room. The flames licking up the chimney in the grate were surrounded by a truly glorious mantelpiece. It was elaborately carved out of marble, the Slytherin crest at the top, snakes acting as vines spiralling down, flowers decorating it. It was a surprise to Al that when Salazar Slytherin built this room, he had surprisingly good taste in interior decoration. A series of emerald green chesterfield sofas and wing backed arm chairs were surrounding the fire. Al could see several older students sat round the fire talking quietly. One of them called out to Gemma and she waved at them before stopping the first years in front of the windows. More sofas and armchairs were spread about the room, some facing the panoramic view that the glass windows provided. They looked out at the depths of the black lake that the little boats had sailed across earlier. Unlike the water on the surface, the water down by the Slytherin windows was churning, shoals of tiny silver fish swimming by. The sound of the lake water lapping at the windows was soothing and Al found his eyes fluttering shut every now and again.

“Right then,” Gemma said with a smile and a small clap of her hands. “Welcome to the Slytherin Common Room. This is the centre of house activity. In here you will study, socialise, and, on occasion, party.” Gemma smirked wickedly. “Our dormitories are most certainly the best in the school, as Jonathan can tell you,” here a group of fifth years sat not far away burst into laughter, cheering in the direction of the olive skinned prefect who stood next to Gemma. He, Jonathan, merely rolled his eyes at them. “Unlike the other houses, we have a maximum of two to a room in the early years and often upgrade to singles as we get older. Your rooms will have already been assigned based on your alphabetical placement, but you’re more than welcome to swap, so long as you’re prepared to do all the heavy lifting yourself. The elves have already put all of your belongings in the rooms, but if you think anything’s missing, or you can’t find your room, come and see me or Jonathan. Now, I’m sure that you’re all quite tired and would quite like to get some sleep, but we have a few house rules to go over first.”

“House rules?” Scorpius murmured to Al, who was just as confused. Neither of their parents had ever said anything about house rules before.

“I’m sure that many of you have heard rumours about Slytherin house before,” Gemma began speaking quite seriously, her eyes flitting over the assembled first years. “And it’s very true that we don’t have the best reputation. After the last war, our numbers were decimated; nobody wants the associated that comes with being a Slytherin, that’s why we have the fewest students of all the houses. But this house is not evil. We are not prejudiced, and if you are, I expect that you have the sense to keep your opinions to yourself. It’s true, that traditionally only purebloods ended up in Slytherin, but that hasn’t been true for a very long time. There are very few people in this house who don’t have at least one muggle parent or grandparent, but that doesn’t mean that the other houses think that. It is your job to prove them wrong.”

Al swallowed heavily.

“That’s a lot to put on a group of eleven year olds, I know,” said Gemma. “But I’m afraid it’s a burden you’ll have to bear. That means that your behaviour outside of these rooms must be impeccable. Do not give the teachers or students a reason to think that their prejudices are correct. They will take it.”

“But aren’t the teachers supposed to be fair?” a small blonde girl Al thought was called Caroline piped up.

“They’re supposed to be, but few are.” This time it was Jonathan who spoke. “Most of them fought in the last war, and the old house prejudices that existed then, only got worse. They’ll try to be unbiased, but they’re not. The heads of house will favour their own houses, and most of the other teachers were in one of the other three houses. Only Io and Sinistra were Slytherins when they were at Hogwarts, the others were all in the other houses. We have to fight for every house point that we get, so perform well, and don’t lose us points.”

Jonathan and Gemma were looking at them quite seriously, and the other first years seemed quite tense and pale now. There was a brief silence, even the older students who had been in the common room seemed to be paying heavy attention. Behind them, there was a grinding sound, and Al turned around to see the handsome blonde man who had taken them to the sorting entering the common room.

“Welcome,” he said charmingly, “to Slytherin. I trust that your prefects have been treating you well.”

Nobody nodded. Al attempted to change his features from traumatised to just tired with little success. Io seemed to see this and his nodded thoughtfully.

“As I’m sure Gemma and Jonathan have already told you, being sorted into this house does come with a certain amount of stigma. It is true that Lord Voldemort, and many of his followers came from this house.” Many of the first years, including Scorpius, flinched slightly. “But that does not make us an evil house. There are many alumni of the other houses who have done terrible things in the past, and try as they might, no Gryffindor, Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff can truly deny that they have had cruel, capricious, and on occasion, downright idiotic members.” There was a small tittering of nervous laughter from the first years. “There is a reason that you were sorted into this house; Slytherin students pride themselves on having the seeds of greatness. If you work hard, and make friends, I have no doubt that you will succeed, and go on to become great witches and wizards.”

That was slightly more reassuring. Al could feel the nerves that had been rising seem to decrease slightly.

“That being said, I, and Professor Sinistra have certain expectations of you. In order to prove the other houses wrong, you must all be on your best behaviour with the teachers. The older years will give you a crash course on them tomorrow, but do not let their advice alone guide you; you must work hard. If you are struggling, ask each other or one of the older students for help. That is one of the benefits of being in Slytherin, the other houses will climb over one another to come top, we aid each other. There are very few people who excel across the board without some assistance, and in Slytherin, that assistance is given freely and taken gratefully. Conflicts are also to be kept within the house. If you have a disagreement with another Slytherin, you will not air your argument outside of the common room. If we are to succeed in changing opinion and winning the house cup, we must present a united front. If you have a disagreement with a student in another house, as I’m sure will happen,” here, Al could have sworn that Io’s eyes paused on him, “then you will deal with it with decorum in public.” Io glanced around at them once more, his expression softening slightly. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you all; for most of you this will be the first time you have been away from home for more than a day or two, and giving you such instructions and expectations cannot be easy, but I would be failing in my duty to you if I did not warn you about what you might face. Nonetheless, I look forward to teaching you all, and have complete faith in your ability to flourish in this school. I hope you enjoy your time at Hogwarts, and just know, if you ever need to talk to someone, the prefects, and Professor Sinistra and myself are here for you. Now, I will bid you goodnight, and will see you in the morning to give you your timetables. The prefects will show you to your dormitories.”

He nodded in goodbye, and turned to exit the common room, leaving them to turn back to Gemma and Jonathan. Gemma was still smiling.

“Right, it’s time for you lot to go to bed now, but before you go, we have a couple more things to tell you. The noticeboard is over there,” she gestured to a massive cork board over in one corner that already had a few sheets of parchment pinned to it. “It will have the first and second year timetables on it in case you lose yours, as well as notices about clubs, societies and anything sudden to do with classes. The password changes every two weeks, so check there for the latest password. You are never to give the password to a non-Slytherin, or let anyone from another house in. Other houses common rooms are free game though, and you get double points if you manage to make it into Hufflepuff, because so far none of us have done that.”

“Ravenclaw and Gryffindor are easy though,” Jonathan smirked, eliciting a small life from Gemma.

“Curfew is at nine for you lot, so don’t get caught outside of it.”

“Quidditch is a big deal, too,” warned Jonathan. “Every time we win, we throw a party.”

“And every time we lose, we throw a party.”

“It’s not really a party though.”

“Well what would you call it?” Gemma challenged, cocking one hip.

“A commiseration soirée.” Gemma rolled her eyes.

“Either way we get a bit pissed and play stupid games,” she explained. A small grin appeared on Al’s face. “But you won’t get to experience that for at least two more years. We don’t serve thirds years and under, but you still get to play and dance with us. Tomorrow, we’ll give you the lowdown on the teachers and some of the older students, but for now, you should go to bed. Girls with me, boys with Jonathan.”

She gestured to either side of the room where ornate silver doors with the same snake/flowered vine design engraved into it. Al could make out the word: Girls, in loopy writing inscribed onto the door on the left side of the room and there was an identical door, only this time with the inscription: Boys.

Al and Scorpius turned and began walking towards the silver door that led to the boys’ dorms. As soon as they had descended the spiral stairs they found themselves face to face with yet another silver door, this one with the engraving: First Years.

Scorpius turned the door handle and the two boys entered the corridor. It was decorated with a forest green wallpaper and mahogany panelling. It seemed that Slytherin had been fond of silver doors and the corridor that the boys entered into was lined with them. Next to each door was a pair of name plates. The other boys were chattering away as Al and Scorpius made their way down the hallway.

They had looked at six name plates before they finally spotted their names, Scorpius Malfoy, and then, underneath, Albus Potter. Al pushed open the door and found a rather excellent dormitory.

Much like the hallway, the dorm was decorated in forest green and mahogany panelling. A four poster bed, again mahogany, was at each end of the room. Al’s trunk had been pushed under one, while the same had been done to Scorpius’ trunk underneath the other bed. Green silk hung from each bed and it had matching bedspreads embroidered in silver. Another pair of green chesterfield sofas were in the centre of the room facing each other, a mahogany coffee table set in between them. There was a fireplace facing the silver door, though the mantelpiece that decorated it wasn’t nearly as grand as the one in the common room. On the far right side of the room, closest to Al’s bed, was yet another door, this time mahogany, not silver. Al opened it to reveal a marble bathroom complete with shower, bath, sink and lavatory. On the other side of the room, inside an alcove, was a circular chute, presumably for dirty laundry. Silver lanterns hung from the ceiling, providing a gentle glow.

“Nice accommodation,” Scorpius said appreciatively with a low whistle. Al nodded tiredly in reply.

Both boys were too exhausted to talk anymore and once they had changed into their pyjamas neither of them said another word as they sank into the feather soft pillows and the deep blackness of sleep consumed them.


	5. Blood Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lessons begin, the Slytherins bet on everything, and James and Al start a war

_It was dark. The air was cold and clammy and Al couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was being watched. He turned quickly, glancing about him, but night had thrown the wooded area into complete darkness. Only his lantern cast any light, but the air was so thick with mist that it only allowed him to see a few feet in front of him, where his hound was resting, his ears pricked up alertly._

_Very suddenly there was a crunch, as though someone had crushed leaves or twigs underfoot. Al clutched at the knife on his belt, prepared to use it._

_There was another crunch, this one closer to him. He turned in that direction, just about able to make out the faint glow of a lantern moving towards him. The light drew closer and closer and Al prepared himself to attack. Then he saw who the hand holding the lantern belonged to._

_It was a lovely woman, with long, dark hair and caramel skin. She was dressed richly, in fine quality cloths, despite the fact that she had clearly been attempting to dress down in a thick cotton tunic and close fitting breeches. Any of that could have caught his attention, but it was her eyes that Al focused on. They were wide, and earnest, and gold._

_Al kept the knife held out, sure that he couldn’t trust this woman, even though he had never seen her before, and had no idea who she was._

_“Please,” the woman begged, looking at him pleadingly. “Please, help me.”_

Al jerked awake, his green silk sheets pooling around his legs, a sheen of sweat coating his skin. His breathing was laboured, and his heart was racing as he stared around the unfamiliar room, disconcerted until he remembered that he was in Hogwarts. On the other side of the room, Scorpius was still in bed, fast asleep, the sheets pulled up so far that all that could be seen was his white blonde hair.

 

He sighed, flopping back down onto his pillows, uncertain of the time and unable to remember the dream that had woken him up. Turning his head, he saw that his alarm clock, which one of the elves must have put there because he hadn’t, showed that it had only just turned six o’clock, which meant that he had nearly another two hours before breakfast even began.

 

Sleep wouldn’t return to him, and so, after twenty-five minutes of counting hippogriffs he gave up, swinging his legs out of the bed and heading towards the bathroom for a shower. He turned on the shower and disrobed, stepping into the rainfall of warm water. Al enjoyed the warmth, but, as he rested his head against the cool tiled wall, it occurred to him that it might be possible to use up all the hot water. He rather hoped that it wasn’t possible; Hogwarts was a magical school; one would think that it had an unlimited supply of hot water.

 

Once Al had washed his hair and dried himself off, he glanced into the steamed up bathroom mirror, wiping away a section of the condensation so that he could see himself. It was odd really, he had always been told that he looked exactly like his father, but here, standing in a Slytherin bathroom, he couldn’t imagine that his father had ever looked so young and scared.

 

When Al did eventually leave the bathroom, he found Scorpius sat up in his bed, blearily rubbing his eyes, his hair sticking up on one side in a very strange fashion.

 

“Morning,” he yawned at Al, sleepily getting out of bed and heading into the bathroom.

 

About half an hour later, once Al had dressed in his school robes and run a brush through his hair with little success, Scorpius emerged from the bathroom, looking far more ready for the upcoming day than Al did. He dressed quickly and then the two set out for the common room, where Jonathan had instructed all the first years to meet the previous evening.

 

There were several older students already in the common, sat chatting on the leather sofas or playing wizard’s chess, but most of the students that were already up were nervous looking first years. Some, like Eliza, Carmen and Niko were huddled around the noticeboard, inspecting the notices that had already been put up there with great interest. He and Scorpius made their way over to the noticeboard to join them, greeting their classmates as they went.

 

“So who are you betting on?” Carmen asked Al wickedly.

 

“What?”

 

“Apparently everything in Slytherin gets bet on,” Niko explained. “They’ve already got bets up on who’ll get the first detention, which teacher will show up to a lesson drunk, who’s going to get onto the Quidditch team…”

 

“Sounds fun,” Scorpius said, glancing at the scribblings on the parchment. “But how do we know who any of these people are, exactly?”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” replied Eliza with a wicked grin. “Put your money on one of these four,” she indicated four names on the sheet of parchment asking for bets on who would get Professor Akoni to shout first. Al had no idea who professor Akoni was, but he was sure that he would find out. “I can ensure that we win.”

 

“How?” Carlton, who had come up behind them, asked.

 

“If I told you I’d have to kill you,” Eliza smiled sweetly before whisking off to join Caroline on the sofa.

 

“Think she was kidding?” Carmen frowned.

 

“Nope,” responded Al, stepping forward to scrawl his bet next to the names. “That,” he jabbed the quill at the name: Alex Goldberg. “Must be her brother. She’s going to rig it.”

 

“That’s brilliant,” exclaimed Scorpius.

 

“That’s cheating,” Niko said at the exact same moment.

 

“No wonder she’s in Slytherin,” Al said appreciatively.

 

“Alright, firsties!” Jonathan was by the exit to the common room. “Gather round!” The first years all obeyed, forming a crowd around him, and Gemma took a quick head count. “Okay, everyone here?” Gemma nodded. “Let’s go.”

 

Jonathan turned and began to lead them through the labyrinth of corridors that led to the Great Hall. Hogwarts, as Al was quickly discovering, was a maze of confusing corridors and secret passageways that didn’t lead anywhere near where people thought they did. It took them about ten minutes in total to reach the Great Hall, with Jonathan and Gemma pointing out useful features such as secret passageways, portraits that would help the Slytherins, and trick doors or staircases.

 

Eventually, they reached the Great Hall and Gemma and Jonathan ushered them into the seats closest to the door and told them to get started on breakfast. The first years did as they were told, tucking into the plates of toast and pastries that had appeared. After a few minutes, when everyone was happily settled, Professor Io appeared at their elbows.

 

“Good morning,” he greeted them, smiling slightly at their muffled reply. “I’ve got your timetables. At the moment you all have the same one, but that will change in later years when you begin taking electives, so don’t get used to just following other people around. Gemma and Jonathan will tell you everything you need to know about the teachers. I don’t see you until tomorrow afternoon, so make sure you behave until then.”

 

With that, he whisked away, his green robes billowing theatrically behind him. Gemma and Jonathan turned to the first years with grins on their faces.

 

“Okay, so who do you have today?” Gemma asked.

 

“Um, Charms with Costello, DADA with Highclere, Herbology with Longbottom and then Potions with Akoni,” Caroline listed the teachers from her timetable, copies of which were being passed around by the other first years. Gemma nodded thoughtfully.

 

“Costello is that woman over there,” she pointed out a petite woman with shiny chestnut hair pulled back in an elaborate up-do. “She’s head of Hufflepuff, but don’t let their general timidity fool you. She’s a champion dueller and can take out half the school out with her eyes closed and her hands tied behind her back. Of all the teachers, she’s probably the fairest however; she’ll give you a chance to prove yourself, and if you impress her, she’ll like you, so make a good impression. If you make a bad first impression, then she won’t forget and she won’t forgive.”

 

“Which other house do you have Charms with?”

 

“Ravenclaw.”

 

“Okay, that’s good. Claws are clever, and they like learning, but they’ll slit each other’s throats to come top. That doesn’t usually play well with Hufflepuffs, so if someone’s struggling, give them a hand, even if they’re in Ravenclaw. Costello will like that.”

 

“Ask her for help if you need it, though. Costello will always help, provided you give her an actual explanation of what you don’t understand.” Gemma paused, looking around at everyone. “Everyone got that?” They all nodded obligingly.

 

“Highclere’s a bit of an unknown I’m afraid,” Jonathan apologised. “We’ve never had him before either, but the seventh years did in their first year. From what they can remember he fancies himself a bit of a hero, likes to talk about his exploits, so if you don’t understand something, ask him for an anecdote that supports the point. Get him talking about himself a bit.” Al nodded slowly at his words, glancing up at the man in question, who was talking animatedly with a rather annoyed looking Professor Io, who still had his eyes on the Slytherin table.

 

“Now, Longbottom’s head of Gryffindor, and this means that he’s least likely to be a fan of us, particularly you, Malfoy. Sorry.”

 

Scorpius shrugged, not looking particularly bothered by it, but he had gone pale, and Al could feel his leg jiggling nervously beneath the table.

 

“Herbology’s one of those subjects where the vain do not survive,” Gemma told them all. “It’s hard work and it’s dirty work, and Longbottom doesn’t like complaints about broken nails. He doesn’t like people messing about either, so no playing with the soil.”

 

“How do we prevent broken nails though?” Eliza piped up, looking at her clearly manicured fingernails.

 

“Impervius charm,” Jonathan told her. “Gemma and I’ll do it for anyone who wants it after breakfast.” Most of the girls, and Scorpius, sighed in relief.

 

“Who was the last one?” Gemma asked, peering over Niko’s timetable to see. “Ah, Akoni. She’s probably the trickiest of them all, but that’s mostly because she teaches Potions.” Jonathan nodded in agreement.

 

“Potions is tricky, so make sure you pay attention to everything that Akoni says. Other than Io, she’s probably the strictest teacher in the school; she will take points off of you for any wrong doing, and rarely praises you when you get it right. Make sure you concentrate on the potion that you’re making, because it’s easy to get distracted, and she hates that. Be on time, be polite and be correctly dressed. If your tie isn’t done up correctly, then she’ll do it for you, and nothing feels more like being strangled than one of her automatic tying spells. If you’re clever, and you like learning, then you’ll impress her. Try to do that from the get go, because while she’s willing to give you more chances, she’ll forgive you more easily for any wrong doing later.”

 

“You’ve got Potions with the Gryffindors, but that shouldn’t be too much of an issue; Akoni won’t let them get away with any more than she’d let you get away with, so if you’re well behaved, she’ll think that the Gryffindors are the ones who are badly behaved and need to be punished.”

 

Most of the Slytherin first years, Al included, seemed to be rather overwhelmed at the sheer size of the information provided, and it was obviously apparent to both Gemma and Jonathan, who looked at them with reassuring smiles on their faces.

 

“You’ll be fine, and if you’re not, come and see one of us, we’ll take care of it for you.”

 

“And, use this week to scope out who you think are going to be the biggest issues for you. We run sweepstakes for the first years on who’s going to be the first person from another house to challenge a Slytherin. Winner gets the location of the kitchens, so spend this week figuring out who you’re going to bet on, and then tell us.”

 

A murmur of excitement ran through the first years, all of whom wanted to know where the kitchens were. By this point, the Great Hall had filled up with all the other year groups from all the other houses, and people were almost finished with breakfast and were heading back to the common rooms to collect their bags before heading to lessons.

 

Once about half of the Slytherin first years had finished breakfast, Gemma led them back down to the common room to collect their bags before escorting them to the Charms corridor.

 

This happened every morning for the rest of the week. The first years would meet in the common room, where either Gemma or Jonathan, or sometimes both of them, would escort them to the Great Hall, using a different route each time so that they got acquainted with the geography of the school. Then, at breakfast, they would explain a bit about the teachers that they had for that day, giving tips and hints as to how to do well in their class. They were invariably correct about teachers, years of collected knowledge given to the first years to apply with varying degrees of success.

 

For the most part, the first year Slytherins had gone down well with their teachers. Professor Costello had been delighted by the aptitude that some of the class, namely Eliza, showed for charms, and had, according to Gemma who had been told by Io, been particularly impressed by their willingness to work together and help each other out. Longbottom was equally easily handled; the Slytherins were quiet and dedicated to their work, and none of them had complained about broken fingernails, unlike the Puffs that they shared the class with. Akoni had been the hardest to please, but that was mostly because they shared the class with Gryffindors, most of whom had hissed as they entered the classroom, shooting both Al and Scorpius filthy looks. Much to Al’s pleasure, Caroline had ‘accidentally’ dropped her cauldron on the foot of Kyle McLaggen, the biggest and most aggressive student in their entire year after he had pushed through the Slytherins, knocking Al, Scorpius and Eliza into the wall.

 

Potions had been, by far, Al’s favourite lesson of the week. Akoni had been strict and firm, but Al had listened to Gemma and Jonathan and had diligently taken notes on absolutely everything she said, determined to get the potion correct. She instructed them on how to make a fairly simply potion, and then allowed them to get on with it, prowling behind them to ensure that no one did anything too dangerous. Al and Scorpius had been paired together, and it was a good thing that Al actually found Potions easy, as Scorpius was utterly useless, and that was being kind.

 

“It’s mother’s fault,” he had confided in Al as Al stirred the liquid at an even pace. “She was terrible at potions too.”

 

Luckily for Scorpius however, they had Transfiguration the following day, where he more than made up for his Potions failings.

 

Al had been right in his very first impression of Professor Io; strict and clever, Al had soon realised that he was not someone to cross. The moment that they had sat down he had given them a brief lecture that had been sufficiently terrifying so as to ensure that nobody would ever mess around lest they be automatically failed, and thereby be held back a year.

 

Then, with a simple flick of his wand, he turned his desk into a bellowing rhinoceros and back, promptly amazing everyone before disappointing them slightly when he informed them that they wouldn’t be capable of that kind of transfiguration for a very long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, Io handed out matches and told them to start trying to turn it into a needle.

 

While Al had only succeeded in turning half of his match into a needle, a very odd looking creation indeed, it only took about two minutes of careful concentration before Scorpius let out a hiss of satisfaction and received a rare smile of approval from Io, who had, in turn, showed the rest of the class how his match had gone silver and pointy. Scorpius was then allowed to progress farther, and by the end of the lesson had succeeded in transforming an entire twig into a dangerously sharp knitting needle, while the rest of the class had only managed partial transformation of the match into the needle.

 

The other lessons weren’t as tricky as Transfiguration, though Al was aware that his spells in Charms had a tendency to go quite wild, but nonetheless, there was much more to magic than Al had initially anticipated.

 

Every Tuesday at midnight the Slytherins would tramp up to the Astronomy tower where they studied the night skies through their telescopes and learnt the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. At first Al had been afraid that he would simply fall asleep, but luckily he had Scorpius, who already knew a lot about stars and constellations, to nudge him if he did so, and in reality, Astronomy was much more enjoyable than other people had made out. It helped that their Astronomy professor was Professor Sinistra, the only other Slytherin teacher at Hogwarts.

 

Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology with Professor Longbottom, whom, as a friend of the Potters and Weasleys, Al had known since he was very young. Surprisingly, Longbottom, as Al now had to call him, was not as overtly anti-Slytherin as some of the other teachers, and his passion for Herbology was quite contagious, ensuring that even the most sceptical of the Slytherins (Eliza, Caroline, and Scorpius) had at least some form of enthusiasm for taking care of the strange plants and fungi that Hogwarts was housing.

 

Defence Against the Dark Arts was the class that everyone in the year, even the Slytherins, had been looking forward to the most, and Highclere did not disappoint. Following Gemma and Jonathan’s advice, the Slytherins had been cautious around him at first, but had managed to get him talking about himself, and as it turned out, Highclere had led quite a cool life as a curse breaker, and listening to him tell stories, and teach them hexes and jinxes was actually very enjoyable.

 

For Al, History of Magic was easily the most boring class, the only one that was taught be a ghost, Professor Binns. The older Slytherins joked that Binns had left his personality in the staffroom chair in which he had left his body, but seeing as there was nobody left alive who had been taught by the Flesh and Blood Binns, they couldn’t confirm it. Personally, Al doubted whether Binns had ever been interesting; as far as he could see, anyone who thought of the Goblin Wars and Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball as important parts of wizarding history could never be counted as interesting.

 

Even living at Hogwarts was a unique experience, and not simply because Al was living away from home for the first time. Al was convinced, much to Scorpius’ amusement, that the castle itself had it out for the students. There were one hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts, and they were utterly infuriating. Some were wide and sweeping, others were narrow and rickety; those ones Al only used tentatively, and some had horrible tricks, such as a vanishing stair part way down, and that was before you even factored in the fact that they moved, often leaving students stranded and forced to take an alternate route to their lesson. Frankly it was astounding that anyone actually got to their lessons on time.

 

The doors, too, were annoying; some wouldn’t open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and some were just walls pretending to be doors while others were doors pretending to be walls. The older Slytherins had been mostly helpful in showing the first years the tricks, but still, Al thought that the architect of Hogwarts must have been a very irritating person. The portraits were much help either; Gemma had recommended getting on their side early on, as they could be helpful, but in the week that he had been at Hogwarts, Al had only witnessed them complain about students who had got lost, or walk away from them completely, out of their frames and along the corridors. Al was also fairly certain that the suits of armour could walk; Scorpius was fairly certain that Al was merely paranoid, as one metal suit looked much the same as another metal suit.

 

The ghosts were nothing but a nuisance too. It was always a shock when they glided through a door or a wall and then through you. The sensation was like icy water being poured over you, and none of the ghosts every apologised for that. The Bloody Baron was, as Gemma had assured him on the first night, actually quite gentle. He was willing to point new Slytherins in the right direction, provided they were polite, and his presence meant that the Slytherins rarely felt the full force of Peeves, the school’s resident poltergeist, who wreaked havoc almost indiscriminately across Hogwarts. The other ghosts were equally partisan, preferring to aid their own houses, but they rarely got involved with the other houses, except for Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, who had had it in for Eliza since the opening ceremony, causing her to spend several feverish hours in the library looking up how to ward off ghosts with little success. Luckily for her, she had been quite polite to the Bloody Baron, and he had “had words” with Nick.

 

The only thing more annoying than Peeves was Mrs Norris, a scrawny, dust-coloured creature with bulging, lamp-like eyes. She was apparently under the care of Mr Custodian, the caretaker, but many students claimed to have seen him aim a kick at her after she had clawed at him. Although Custodian and Mrs Norris, who was rumoured to have belonged to Custodian’s predecessor, appeared to loathe each other, they were working towards the same purpose. Putting even a toe out of line in front of either one of them was the quickest way to end up in detention, and Al had absolutely no wish to spend an evening polishing trophies.

 

Of course, Al’s surprisingly enjoyable experience of Hogwarts had to come to an end at some point, and it happened, in a rather dramatic fashion, at Friday lunch, and, like most of the bad things that happened in Al’s life, it was all James’ fault.

 

It was the end of their very first week at Hogwarts, they all got Friday afternoons off, and the Slytherin first years had been coming from an incredibly dull History of Magic lesson in which Al and Scorpius had finished off their Transfiguration homework, Carmen and Niko had been playing hangman, and Caroline and Eliza had been openly having a conversation about nail care. They had all quickly come to the conclusion that Binns had nothing particularly meaningful to contribute and they were better off using that lesson as a free, and just do the work from the textbooks later.

 

They had made it to the Great Hall and were about to sit down at the Slytherin table when Carmen, who had been complaining about the poor weather in Scotland since they had been there, suggested that they enjoy the weather and eat outside by the lake. The others had eagerly taken her up on the suggestion; they lived in the dungeons, and as soothing as the lake was, it couldn’t fully replace sunlight. So, after wrapping some lunch in napkins, six of them made their way out to the lakeside, and settled out on the grass.

 

It had been strange, getting to know all of the new people in Slytherin and in his year. At home, Al had just been one of many, a Weasley cousin that only stood out from the rest because of his dark hair. Now though, he was being forced to befriend the very people that his cousins had spent their letters home complaining about, and he couldn’t say that he regretted it.

 

Eliza was the only muggleborn among the six of them, and Caroline was the only other one to have a muggle parent. Like Al and Scorpius, they were sharing a room, and, according to Carmen, had quickly found that they shared a love for fashion and had promptly decided to combine their wardrobes. That was not to say that they weren’t clever; Eliza had quickly proven herself to have a knack for both Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts, and had already used a particularly powerful stinging jinx on Clarice Warrington, a particularly unpleasant pug faced girl who had also been sorted into Slytherin and who had attempted to bully Eliza out of the common room one evening. Al had stood up to defend her, but Eliza had been quicker, and her stinging jinx was so powerful that Warrington’s face had begun to swell, and she had been forced to rush off to the hospital wing. When she had finally returned to the Slytherin common room, seething but not stupid enough to tell anyone that Eliza had jinxed her, she had found all but her ugliest clothes cut up into pieces, and though nobody had confessed, Al suspected that Caroline had been responsible.

 

Both Niko and Carmen were the children of foreign ambassadors to the UK’s Ministry of Magic; Carmen’s parents were Mexican, and had decided that as they were living in the UK that Carmen would be better off attending Hogwarts rather than Ilvermorny, the main American school of magic, while Niko’s mother was the Serbian ambassador, who had married a British official and had decided to stay in the UK. As such, they had known each other since they were children, and were the best of friends.

 

The six of them had finished eating their lunch and were discussing the duelling club that they had all decided to join when James came marching up to them, flanked by Freddie, his favourite cousin, and Rose. Scorpius, who had been allowing Eliza and Caroline to weave daisies through his hair sat up on one elbow when he heard the shout of:

 

“Al! You bloody snake!”

 

Al turned to look over at his brother wearily.

 

“What do you want James?”

 

“I want you to tell me what this is!” he shouted, waving a sheaf of parchment in his direction.

 

“Parchment?” suggested Al drily.

 

“Don’t get smart with me,” James snarled.

 

Al felt the rage that he always associated with his brother boil inside him.

 

“Well unless you show me, I won’t know, will I,” he snapped, snatching the parchment from James. He scanned it quickly, recognising his mother’s neat script. “It’s just a letter from mum,” he said in confusion handing it back to his brother.

 

“Yeah, a letter from mum that’s telling me not to kick off at you anymore.” James was scowling, his brown eyes burning with anger. Al looked at the other Slytherins, all of whom looked confused or bored.

 

“Maybe you should do as she says,” Scorpius suggested innocently. “I’d hate to see you get told off by your mummy.” Caroline and Carmen snickered; Eliza and Niko were too busy sending filthy looks at Rose and Freddie.

 

“Oh don’t you start, Malfoy!” spat James. “I bet it was you and your sort who corrupted him in the first place.” He spared a dark look for Scorpius, who looked supremely unconcerned, before turning back to Al. “What did you tell mum and dad? Did you tell them that I’ve been laying into you?”

 

“I haven’t written to mum and dad,” Al replied, rolling his eyes. And it was true, he hadn’t written to his parents yet, unwilling to face any backlash. His father might have said that he was fine with his son being in Slytherin, but Dad had said a lot of things that he didn’t necessarily keep to, and Al wasn’t yet prepared to test whether that was true about the whole Slytherin thing. “So anything that they’ve said to you has not come from me.”

 

That didn’t mean that James shouldn’t take their advice. For the most part the brothers hadn’t spoken since they had got on the train; James’ communiqués had mostly been limited to insults shouted across the Great Hall at breakfast, or snide comments hissed at him on the way to lessons, or, on occasion, a small jinx or hex sent his way in the corridors. Al had taken Io’s advice to heart, and was yet to respond, deciding that his revenge would be private, and there would be no way to trace it back to him, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t want revenge. James was an idiot, selfish and cruel, and his words hurt Al more than he had ever let on. James always had known how to get under Al’s skin.

 

“Well someone must have told them!”

 

“That is generally how news travels,” Eliza drawled, her fingers still entwined in Scorpius’ hair.

 

“Shut up, Goldberg!” Rose had finally joined the conversation, but was still determinedly not looking at Al. “This has nothing to do with you.”

 

“As far as I can tell, it has nothing to do with you either. All you’ve done is let him,” here Eliza gestured to James derisively. “Shout at Al.” She paused, a sly look taking over her face. “Perhaps you are too much of a coward to stop him.”

 

Rose stepped forward angrily, pulling her wand from her robes, and within an instant, Eliza and Caroline were both on their feet, their wands also out. Out of the corner of his eye, Al noted that Scorpius, Carmen and Niko also had their wands out, and without even noticing, he had his hand on his own wand, the warmth from it filling his very core.

 

“It’s fine, Eliza,” said Al, also standing. He turned to James, ignoring Rose, just as she had ignored him. “I haven’t written to mum or dad since term began. If you want to know who grassed you up, I’d start with the teachers.”

 

“The teachers?”

 

“You’re not exactly subtle, James. And what you’re doing is definitely against the school rules. Add two plus two together to get…” Al looked at his brother expectantly.

 

“Four? Al, what are you…”

 

“Oh use your head, you idiot! You’re being a bully; whose job is it to ensure the wellbeing of students and prevent bullying?”

 

“You think a teacher wrote to your mum and dad?” Freddie piped up in confusion.

 

“Them, or Victoire,” shrugged Al. “She doesn’t exactly like bullies. Now go away.”

 

James shot one last hateful look at Al before he turned on his heel and stormed off, Freddie following in his wake. Rose paused for a moment, looking like she wanted to say something, before she too turned around and left.

 

“Pathetic,” sneered Caroline, looking at the three retreating figures. She and Eliza sat back on the ground, their hands going back to Scorpius’ hair, but he waved them away, sitting up properly to look over at Al in concern. Al shook his head.

 

“I’m fine,” he answered the unspoken question. “I’m fine.”


End file.
